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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27218038">Appointment With Death</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessiRomantic/pseuds/JessiRomantic'>JessiRomantic</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Hidden Creatures [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adult Hermione Granger, BAMF Hermione Granger, Bobby Singer Deals With Idjits, Death Loves Fast Food (Supernatural), Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hermione Granger-centric, Humor, MACUSA Employee Hermione, MACUSA | Magical Congress of the United States of America, Married Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Master of Death Harry Potter, Minor Luna Lovegood/Ron Weasley, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, POV Dean Winchester, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Protective Dean Winchester, Shameless Smut, Smut, Soulless Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:54:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>30,102</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27218038</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessiRomantic/pseuds/JessiRomantic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>If anyone had told Hermione Granger that the Department for Angelic and Demonic Activity at MACUSA was dull work, she never would have believed them. It was. Until she and her boss went to visit Bobby Singer. Now she is on a mission to return a soul, negotiate with death, and try to resist the temptation of one Dean Winchester.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hermione Granger/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Hidden Creatures [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2001928</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>176</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Hermione Granger Mythical Creatures Fest 2020, RAREHPBINGO</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Ramble On</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">



        <li>In response to a prompt by
            Anonymous in the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/1st_HG_Mythical_Creatures_2020">1st_HG_Mythical_Creatures_2020</a>
          collection.
        </li>
    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><strong>Prompt:</strong> Grim Reaper (the embodiment of Death, comes to take your soul to the Afterlife)</p><p>This is also a part of The Wizarding Connection's <i>Cast the Dice</i> fest with the <b>bed sharing</b> trope</p><p><b>Rare HP Bingo Prompt:</b> <i>"Please, help me."</i></p><p>I do not own Harry Potter or Supernatural. All recognisable characters are owned by Bloomsbury, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, JK Rowling and Eric Kripke. I am making no profit from this work</p><div class="center">
  <p>    </p>
  <p>    <i>Beautiful artwork by mimifreed</i><br/></p>
</div>
    </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I’d like to thank my alpha mimifreed for being the most incredible cheerleader ever, and my betas Charlie9646 and TakingFlight48 for their help with this. I could not have done this without any of you, you're all amazing and I am so grateful to you all.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Each caress set her nerves on fire. Calloused fingers blazed a trail over her soft supple skin, burning a path down her body. One large hand wrapped around her tender breast, pulling at her sensitive nipple, while another went between her legs lightly teasing her entrance. She saw a flash of forest green eyes, hooded with desire. The sensation of plump lips on her throat had shivers course down her spine. She delighted as she felt the hand at her core gently parting her wet folds and pressing in first one finger, then a second. Her body arched, meeting the tormentingly lazy rhythm. The other hand moved from one breast to the other so as not to neglect attention. Her body sang when she felt the pace of the fingers inside her increase and a thumb brush lightly against her bundle of nerves. She writhed under the ministrations, edging nearer and nearer to her climax. She climbed higher, ready to fall from heaven into the pits of hell.</p><p>
  <em> Knock, knock. </em>
</p><p>Hermione’s dark brown eyes shot open. Her hand buried inside herself. Growling in frustration she slammed her lids shut again, willing the images of the tall, broad man with sandy hair and soulful green eyes back to her. She curled her fingers to hit the sweet spot, rubbing her thumb furiously against her clit. Hoping to spark the flames that had dimmed to a smoulder. She arched into her hand, hips rocking, lips parted.</p><p><em> Knock, knock</em>. </p><p>“Come on, Granger!”</p><p>With an exasperated snarl, she slumped back onto her bed. Unsatisfied. She looked down the length of her body. She debated ignoring the fact that her superior, Hank Malone, was outside the door to finish what she had started. Then she remembered that Malone would have no problem with barging into her studio apartment. Instead, she removed her hand slowly from her core and the other from beneath her t-shirt. She kicked the covers that were tangled around her legs to the side and swung herself from the bed. Blearily searching the floor, she grabbed a pair of pyjama shorts. Just as she debated washing her hands of her juices another knock echoed through her flat.</p><p>“Granger! What are you doin’ in there?”</p><p>She swung the door to her flat open and glared at the man standing in front of her. The tall man looked down at her in surprise but the shocked look on his face morphed to one of amusement. That made her glare deepen. Hermione had to concede that it was likely she did not look overly intimidating. Dark curls piled on the top of her head, an old Chudley Cannons shirt that she had refused to return to Ron after their break up, pyjama shorts with Kermit the frog printed on them, and bare feet.</p><p>The older man was cleverer than he looked, however, and chose not to comment. Instead, he pushed his grey hair from his face before crossing his arms over his chest and casually leaned against her door frame. “Not like you to be late getting up, Granger,” he drawled. “Hurry up, we’ve got a King of Hell to catch.” Hermione inwardly groaned at the memory of the previous day when they had captured a demon and they learned that all Hell had broken loose. Literally.</p><p>She did not say a word, just grimaced and opened her door wider in invitation. Once Malone had stepped across her threshold, she poked her head out to check that no one else was lurking in the hallway. Her flat was in an area of Muggle Harlem that was particularly notorious for petty crime. While the immediate neighbours she had met upon moving in were not unpleasant, she would not trust them to look after Crookshanks when she travelled back to London. Even with only six months of experience in this area under her belt and she was nothing less than cautious.  Satisfied that there were no lurking Muggles she turned, shutting the door behind her.</p><p>“Cosy place,” Malone said, looking around her tiny flat.</p><p>“That’s one word for it,” she deadpanned. The comment did not improve her already sour mood. She was well aware that the apartment was a shoebox, but it was all she could afford on her salary at MACUSA. The single room was used as both a living room and bedroom. Calling the food preparation area a kitchenette would be generous, as it was simply a gas cooker, a sink and two cupboards. In a door off the room was a shower room that proved difficult to navigate, especially given her curvy frame. The best part, heating came through the floorboard heaters along the circumference of the space rather than a traditional fireplace, meaning that it had taken a while for her to establish a proper way to call home. With a flick of her wand, the sheets on her bed folded themselves into a neat pile and the bed collapsed into a comfortable sofa. She gestured for Malone to take a seat, “I need to shower so you better make yourself at home.”</p><p>After summoning a towel she walked to the bathroom. She took a cold shower, hoping to take the edge off the morning’s frustration and washed the stickiness of her arousal away. Once she had managed to awkwardly pat herself dry, she summoned underwear, a pair of jeans and a plain t-shirt. She was grateful that Malone was the type of man that would choose to ignore a pair of knickers flying past their head. After banging her elbows and knees on the wall, sink and toilet several times, Hermione stepped out dressed for the day. </p><p>She turned to where Malone was sitting on her sofa and smirked at the sight. The gruff older man, one of the toughest people Hermione had ever met, was resting comfortably on the couch with a large ball of ginger fluff in his lap. Crookshanks, for his part, looked perplexed by the large man cooing over him, though he accepted the scratches behind his ears willingly. She coughed to gain her superior’s attention. The grey haired man lifted his head, eyes as wide as a deer in headlights.  She raised an eyebrow and looked between his face and the cat as she grabbed her jacket from the hook on the back of the door. “Ready?” she asked, stuffing her wand into her arm holster.</p><p>Malone nodded. “We’d oughta go get Singer before heading back to the office,” he instructed as he cautiously lifted Crookshanks from his lap before joining her in two easy strides. Hermione’s mind flashed to the tough Muggle hunter. They had met the older man just under a week ago when they had sought him out for advice. It had not been long before they had been dragged along to hunt down a demon with him. A demon that was now tied up in a MACUSA interrogation room.</p><p>With a shake of her head, Hermione yanked the door open. “Let’s go, then,” she said before walking past him to reach the apparition point.</p>
<hr/><p>“Why do people keep looking at me with that face today?” Hank asked.</p><p>“Prob’ly ‘cause you’re an idjit.” Bobby Singer groused back from the door frame of his motel room. “I can’t help with that demon from yesterday,” he said, moving away from the door. “I got a situation that needs dealing with.”</p><p>“Something to do with that phone call you got last night when you left the offices?” Hermione asked, not having any patience for either man. She remembered the voice at the other end of the phone. “How does a soul go missing anyway?”</p><p>The scruffy hunter looked at her, small green eyes narrowed. “Evesdroppin’ ain’t polite, Missy,” he grumbled. At the look of no-nonsense on her face, however, he nodded. “Yeah. Seems the boys are up to their old crap,” he shrugged. “Like I said, I got a situation, so I need to be gettin’.”</p><p>“But what about Purgatory, and Crowley, and the other stuff,” Malone asked.</p><p>Bobby shrugged again, “Not my problem right now. These boys are family, and I need to be sure they’re not going to run off with some half-brained scheme.” With that, he moved to close the door on the two MACUSA workers. Before the door could slam in their faces, Malone wedged his heavily booted foot in the way to stop him.</p><p>“Do you have any ideas on <em> how </em> to restore a soul?” he asked, arms crossing over his chest.</p><p>The hunter’s mouth was set in a straight line. “Do <em> you </em>?” he volleyed back.</p><p>Hermione huffed at the two men. “Mr Singer, if you would like, you can use the resources back at the Department for Angelic and Demonic Activity. While I know you have extensive literature on lore,” she added, remembering the bookshelves at the man’s house from her trip there a few days before, “there may be some things of use at our offices that you may not have considered.” Bobby looked at her incredulously.</p><p>“Stop callin’ me Mr Singer, would ya? Bobby’s fine. Why do you want to help?” he asked suspiciously.</p><p>Hermione paused. She was not sure why she was willing to help. Then she remembered the tale the hunter had told about the brothers at his house a few days before. And how similar their tale was to Harry’s. “If what you told us back at your house is true, Bobby, then those boys deserve as much help as they can get,” she finished.</p><p>“You’re not wrong,” he said in a tone somewhere between exasperation and affection. “I know you folks deal with some weird stuff sometimes,” he conceded.</p><p>“Sounds like a fucking plan. We’ll head back to MACUSA, sort this soul shit out, and then get that bastard Crowley,” Malone said.</p><p>“You know,” Hermione said, “I <em> really </em> hate how many curse words were in that sentence.”</p><p>Malone shrugged, “I know,” he said, “but what the fuck are you going to do about it.”</p><p>Hermione rolled her eyes and started walking away, muttering under her breath about men being impossible. She was <em> not </em> in the mood for this today.</p><p>“Who pissed in your Cheerios?” Malone asked as he sidled up to Hermione. She just glared at him.</p><p>She was about to give him a snappy retort just as Bobby joined them. “I ain’t doing that zapping thing your lot do,” he started. Hermione pursed her lips at the comment. The hunter had made it abundantly clear over the last few days how he felt about side-along Apparition. The fuss he had made when they had travelled from Champlin to New York was enough to convince her that it was an experience neither of them wanted to repeat. She was about to suggest they walk, as the offices were not far from the motel when the man’s mobile phone rang. “What?” he answered.</p><p>
  <em> “Bobby, are you home? I know you took a case for Garth in Minnesota. We’re about to head out and need to know which direction to head in.” </em>
</p><p>The hunter looked over his shoulder, “I’m in New York City,” he said. “Might have a lead on something for Sam’s situation.”</p><p>
  <em> “Really? That was quick. What’s in New York that can help?” </em>
</p><p>Green eyes looked over at the witch and wizard beside him, “Never you mind,” he said.</p><p>
  <em> “Bobby, if it can help Sammy I wanna know.” </em>
</p><p>“Just get here. My cell might go out of reception so if you can’t get through check into the Windsor Hotel on Forsyth and wait for me there.”</p><p><em> “Bobby, wait, what-” </em> but the older man snapped the flip phone he was using shut, effectively silencing whomever was on the other line. “Idjits.”</p>
<hr/><p>Hermione’s mood had not improved throughout the day. On the twenty-minute walk to the Woolworth Building from Bobby’s hotel, she had been subjected to both men complaining about the need to walk. Hank was moaning that he could have been at the office an hour ago if he had not needed to wait on women and stupid old men. She had chosen not to retort that she had never asked him to come to her apartment, nor that he was the same age as the ‘old man’. Bobby was protesting that he needed to walk at all, muttering that he had a truck back at the motel. She knew the man was choosing to ignore the fact that New York was not a city that should be driven in. By the time they entered the DADA offices of the MACUSA building, she was irritable and debating sending Harry a note to say she would be staying with him for a couple of days. She begrudgingly dismissed the thought.</p><p>As soon as they had walked through the door of the building, Malone had made a beeline for the interrogation room. The demon they had captured the day before was still tied up. He beckoned for one of Hermione’s colleagues to follow him into the room. David Kowalski was a short, fair haired man from Brooklyn who was especially skilled in interrogation of otherworldly creatures. After the previous day’s interrogation, she knew that Hank was hoping to extract information from the demon about Crowley. It seemed that the new King of Hell had his sights set on Purgatory for a reason that was not entirely clear. While it seemed that the DADA had not been up to speed with all of the goings on with Heaven and Hell over the last few years, this would certainly be something that they would want to get a handle on. When they both left the room five hours later, Kowalski with his shirt sleeves rolled up and Malone with jeans covered in black viscose, Hermione grimaced. The six months she had worked here had equipped Hermione with the wherewithal to not ask what happened behind the iron door.</p><p>Meanwhile, Hermione became more frustrated as she and Bobby dived into research. After she had asked Bobby for more details on Sam’s condition, she was sure that it was not something she had ever come across before. She was surprised, and disturbed, to learn that the man was still a functioning human. For the most part. It seemed that the symptoms were nothing like those felt after a Dementor’s kiss. Which made her question if the information was entirely accurate. Unfortunately, there was very little material on methods of returning a soul to a body. Which was something that Hermione was not overly surprised by. There was even less about how to free a soul from hell.</p><p>“Balls!” Bobby exclaimed, hours later. He slammed the book he was reading shut in a way that made Hermione flinch. “This is all useless."</p><p>Hermione brushed an errant curl from her face and looked at the two men. “We’ve been at this for hours,” she said. “And we’re getting nowhere,” she waved her wand and cast a silent <em> Tempus </em> . She frowned when a glowing <em> 19:01 </em> appeared and she suddenly realised the only thing she had eaten that day was half a chicken wrap from the staff cafe. “Why don’t we head back to the motel. We can take the books that we think will be useful and then head out for some food.”</p><p>The two men looked at each other before shrugging in agreement. Hermione waved her wand over the desks, summoning the relevant books and shrinking them to fit into her trusty beaded bag. She had made a habit since the war of carrying it around with her, often stocked with a change of clothes. Once everything was gathered, she walked towards the door and looked over her shoulder. “Come on, then.” As if they were well-trained puppies, they followed at her command.</p><p>When she stepped outside the building she remembered that she had promised to speak to Harry after she finished work. Searching through her bag, Hermione saw that she had left her means of communication at her flat. She looked up at both men slightly sheepishly, “Er, I’ll meet you both at the motel, there’s something I need to do at my flat.”</p><p>Malone nodded, “Apparate into Singer’s room. It’ll make things easier.”</p><p>She agreed, and walked to the apparition point next to the building spinning on her heel, only to reappear in a seedy alleyway next to her apartment building. Rushing up the flight of stairs to the third floor where her flat was located, she fumbled with her keys and stepped into the tiny place. She slumped against her door and let out a breath. Hermione peeked down when she felt something warm wind in and out of her legs. Reaching down, she scratched behind the ears of the fuzzy, orange half-kneazle.</p><p>“Hey, Crooks,” she said. “You’re hungry, huh?” The cat gazed up at her as if the statement was an obvious one. He then leapt up onto the small kitchen counter to emphasise the point. She hung her jacket and bag on the back of her door before moving to the kitchenette and pouring a can of jellied food into a bowl for the feline. Once Crookshanks was happily munching on his food, she moved into the living space and over to the single console table that she used as a bedside cum coffee table. Opening the draw, she pulled out a mirror and pen.</p><p>When Hermione had moved out to the States, Harry had gifted her a mirror similar to the one that Sirius had given him in their Fifth year. They had developed a system to leave messages to one another that would easily work around the time differences and their mutually busy schedules. On the glass of the mirror she used the pen to scrawl a note.</p><p>
  <em> Harry,<br/>
</em>
</p><p><em> I can’t talk tonight, something big has come up at work. I will fill you in when I have a free moment.<br/>
</em> <em> Send my love to everyone.<br/>
</em> <em> I’ll call you soon.<br/>
</em> <em> Promise. </em></p><p>
  <em> Hermione </em>
</p><p>Satisfied, she tapped the mirror once before saying, “<em> Intromitto </em>.” Her message dissolved from the glass before the mirror glowed blue. Hoping she would be forgiven, Hermione replaced the mirror in its drawer before grabbing her coat and bag and leaving the flat for Bobby’s motel.</p>
<hr/><p>Dean Winchester was pissed. </p><p>The last year and a half had been a shitstorm. After turning up on Lisa’s doorstep, broken over losing Sam they had tried to make it work. The first few months had been fine, she was patient and kind with him while he healed. He loved spending time with Ben. But that soon faded. Dean had too many paranoias and demons for her to handle and after six months of trying he had arrived on Bobby’s doorstep. The man had chewed him out for leaving a good thing behind.</p><p>“You got out, Dean!” he yelled. “Why are you back on my doorstep?”</p><p>After several hours, and a few whiskies later, Bobby agreed to give him a case. And then, a year after watching his brother fall into the pit, Dean was sitting in a crappy motel room in Lordsburg, Arizona when he had a knock on his door. What he saw when he glimpsed through the peephole had him stunned. <em> Sammy </em>. He had lived out the last year with a quiet understanding that he would return to Lisa one day; the moment he set eyes on his younger brother again he knew that could never happen. When he found out that Sam had been back for a year, that Bobby had known? He was furious. </p><p>Then it was as if the last year’s pain and loneliness had never happened. They hit the ground running, brothers together again in the good fight, case after case. But, something was bugging him about the younger man and then Limestone, Illinois happened. That gut feeling he had been ignoring in favor of existing with his brother once again just kept nagging until it had all come to a head in the hotel room a few weeks ago. When Cas had explained that Sam’s soul was missing, it was like the last six months clicked into place.</p><p>And while the recent win where Crowley was concerned was something that had lifted his spirits, there was still a lot to deal with. Samuel’s betrayal, Cas’s sketchy behaviour, and Robo-Sam. Add to that, driving all day to meet with the man he saw as a father to try and sort Sammy’s little problem out. Dean felt about ready to shoot something. It did not help that New York City was not meant for cars. He hated that the only spot he could find for Baby was 5 blocks away in on-street parking.</p><p>“What’s taking him so long?” he asked Sam impatiently. </p><p>“Dunno,” he said in a noncommittal tone. Looking over at his brother, or rather the strange soulless version of him. </p><p>The tall man stood casually, hands in his pockets and gaping across the street. Dean followed his line of sight to see that he was checking out a dark haired chick that was just his brother’s type. The man had seriously lost sight of his priorities. Dean raised his eyebrows and shook his head, unsure what else he was expecting. Just as he was about to walk back to the Impala and wait for Bobby there, the older hunter rounded the corner. Walking next to him was a man that Dean did not recognise. Bobby seemed to be irritated that the other man was there, judging by the scowl on his face. The man was around the same age as Bobby but he was taller, closer to Dean’s height. The way he was walking reminded him of his father, suggesting that he was a military man. His broad shoulders squared and head up. He had a head full of thick silver hair and was dressed in what Dean thought of as a hunter’s uniform: shirt, dark jeans and sturdy leather boots. However, he was cleaner than any hunter Dean had ever met. His shirt was cotton, not flannel, and while his jeans were stained his boots did not seem like they had kicked in a lot of doors lately.</p><p>“What the hell, Bobby?” he asked when the other hunter caught his eye, arms outstretched.</p><p>“Nice to see you too, asshat,” he replied. “You got a room like I told you?”</p><p>“Yes,” he replied. “Now are you gunna explain why we’re in the middle of <em> freakin </em>’ Manhattan?”</p><p>“I hate it as much as you do,” Bobby groused. “Come up. Got a few things to talk to you about.” The brothers followed the gruff hunter into the lobby while the other man brought up the rear. “Oh,” Bobby paused before turning and gesturing at the man he had been walking with. “That’s Hank Malone.”</p><p>Dean waved and smiled awkwardly at the man before they all headed to Bobby’s motel room. He was still seething, but he hoped that there would be an explanation when they were safely tucked away. It transpired that the brothers’ room was only down the corridor from the other hunter, which would make doing research much easier for all of them.</p><p>“Come on, Bobby, spill,” he said impatiently once the door was closed. “Why are we here? You said you might have a lead on Sammy’s… situation,” he glanced sideways at the fourth man in the room, unwilling to discuss things in front of a stranger.</p><p>“Yeah. Malone here and one of his colleagues are gunna help us,” Bobby said. “They got access to some stuff we don’t that might be useful. Been with ‘em today at their offices doin’ some research.”</p><p>“Offices? Bobby, what are you talking about? Are they Feds?”</p><p>“Sorta, they-” Bobby was cut off by an almighty crack echoing around the room. Instinctively, both Dean and Sam drew their guns as a woman appeared in the centre of the room.</p><p>“Sorry about that,” the woman said, brushing her jeans, oblivious of the two guns pointed in her direction. She had a British accent, which only confused and maddened Dean more. “I needed to message someone at home -” she cut herself off when she turned to see the brothers.</p><p>“What the <em> actual </em> fuck is going on here?!” Dean exclaimed.</p><p>At the same time, the woman threw her hands up in the air in exasperation, “Oh, for <em> fudge </em> snake!” With a flick of her wrist, she had a long wooden stick pointed at the brothers.</p><p>“Er, boys this is Hermione,” Bobby said calmly.</p><p>“Hermione,” the other man, Hank, who had been quiet until that point said in a similar tone. “This is Sam and Dean.”</p><p>“Oh, cool, nice to meet you,” Dean said sarcastically. “Now who the hell are you and what the fuck are you?”</p><p>Hermione rolled her eyes, sighing and shaking her head at the ground. “Are all American’s potty mouths or is it just the company I keep?” she growled. “<em> Dean </em> was it? I’m Hermione Granger, natural born witch, and your answer to returning your brother’s soul to his body. Now if you <em> don’t </em> mind, I would prefer if you were no longer pointing that wretched thing at me.” As she said the last statement she raised her hands in surrender, wooden stick pointed skyward.</p><p>Dean lowered his weapon, though he did not reholster it immediately. She had admitted to being a witch, after all. “Will someone <em> please </em> explain?”</p><p>“Why don’t we all take a seat,” Hank suggested, moving over to a chair in the room. “And introduce ourselves properly?”</p><p>“Great idea,” Sam said, speaking for the first time. Dean reluctantly moved over to one of the twin beds. He watched the woman, Hermione, closely, still unsure whether or not to trust her. She had described herself as a witch and pointed a stick at him as though it were a weapon. She was about his age if he had to guess. Like Malone, she moved like a soldier. Constantly alert. Her dark, chocolate brown eyes were scanning the room instinctively, searching for weaknesses and escape routes. They held something ‘other’ in them too, something that he had seen in his reflection since his Dad had died and he wondered what she had faced in her life. She was short and curvy, but he could see through her snugly fitting jeans and her leather jacket that it was all muscle. Her hair was a mass of dark, wild curls. He had to admit that the woman was attractive, and were circumstances different, he may have tried to pick her up.</p><p>“Okay,” Bobby started once everyone was more relaxed. “Like I said before, this is Hank Malone and his colleague, Hermione Granger. I’ve known Malone here a few years. Helped me out a couple times back in the day. They’re magical folk. As Granger said, she’s a witch and this motherfucker would call himself a wizard, but natural born. They didn’t sell their soul to no demon. They hunt things, like us, but they know stuff we don’t. They offered to help with Sam over here.”</p><p>“And you trust ‘em?” Dean asked.</p><p>“Yeah. I do,” Bobby replied, a finality in his tone that brokered no room for argument.</p><p>“And how are they gunna do that?” Sam asked. “I mean, no offence, but we have angels who have told us it’s basically impossible. What’re Glinda and Oz going to be able to do they can’t.”</p><p>“We’re not sure exactly,” Hermione said. “But, I do have a theory.”</p><p>“Oh, great, a theory,” Dean snapped sarcastically.</p><p>“Watch your mouth, boy,” Malone snapped. “This woman’s theories save lives, so you’d be wise to listen to them.”</p><p>Dean blanched. The only person to talk to him like that, alive at least, was Bobby. He glanced over at the woman on the opposite bed to see she was blushing shyly. It was not a reaction he had expected given his earlier evaluation. Unbidden, images of the woman with a similar blush on her cheeks, wild hair spread on a pillow, came to him. <em> God </em> what had happened to him. </p><p>“Well,” she started, taking Malone’s words as her cue to continue, “we have never come across anyone like you in the magical world,” she said, looking directly at Sam. “In our world, losing a soul is… it…” she shuddered as if remembering something unpleasant. “Until very recently, it was considered the highest conviction of criminals in the UK.”</p><p>“Conviction?” Dean asked, “Like prison?”</p><p>“Worse,” she replied. “And those who were condemned to the fate, they became a prisoner in their own mind. It was…” she shuddered again, “... the practise was barbaric. And could only be inflicted by one Magical being.”</p><p>“O… kay,” Sam said slowly. “That’s unhelpful.”</p><p>Dean coughed, “Sammy!”</p><p>“Oh, right, was that the wrong thing to say?” he asked.</p><p>Hermione ignored the comment, however, and pressed on, “What exactly do you know about Sam’s soul?”</p><p>Dean regarded her in confusion, “What do you mean?”</p><p>“Bobby mentioned something about hell and a cage?” Malone interjected.</p><p>“Oh, he told you about that?” He glared at the older man.</p><p>“Yes, that was why we met him actually,” Hermione said haughtily. “We work in a department for the Magical Congress of the United States of America that monitors and controls Demon and Angel activity.”</p><p>“Great job you’ve been doing the last few years,” he shot at Malone.</p><p>Hermione glared at Dean, “You know when Bobby told us about you boys I felt empathy for you. I know a thing or two about saving the world when you aren’t given a choice. I thought that if it were my brother who was in the same position, after everything he has gone through, I would take all the help I could get. But if you don’t want our help, that is no skin off our nose.”</p><p>“They want your help, Missy,” Bobby said. “This idjit just needs to get his head out of his ass.”</p><p>“Okay,” she said, turning to Dean. “I’ll ask again, what exactly do you know about Sam’s soul?”</p><p>He sighed. “Not much. We know it’s in hell. We know it’s been trapped in the cage with Michael and Lucifer for a while now. We know that we will have to break into the cage to let it out, but we don’t want Michael and Lucifer to hop the train.”</p><p>“Interesting,” she said thoughtfully. “How did you get them in the ‘cage’ in the first place?”</p><p>Dean considered her, puzzled. “Er, it’s kinda a long story.”</p><p>“Okay,” she said, a slight impatience in her tone. “How did you open it?”</p><p>“We used the rings of the four horsemen. Famine, War, Pestilence and…”</p><p>“Death,” she said, her eyes lighting up. She leapt off the bed in excitement. “That’s it!”</p><p>“Wait,” Dean said. “Why didn’t I think of that?”</p><p>“Shoot, I told Harry I couldn’t speak to him tonight,” she continued, ignoring Dean.</p><p>“Who’s Harry?” he asked. “Does he know Death too?” Once again, she did not answer his questions. Instead, she disappeared from where she stood with a loud crack. “Where did she go?”</p>
<hr/><p>Adrenaline was coursing through Hermione’s veins. Finally, after six months of being buried beneath paperwork, she finally had a proper case. A lead. Not only that, but she knew the only person in the universe who could help her pull this off. She rushed up the stairs of her apartment building, slammed her door open and dashed over to the console table. Taking the communication mirror out of the drawer she saw a message in Harry’s scruffy handwriting.</p><p>
  <em> Hermione, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I’ll hold you to that promise. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Harry </em>
</p><p>She cringed. She knew that the first time she called her best friend in months should not be work related. But she did need to talk to him about this, even to get his advice. She tapped her wand to the mirror to clear the writing before saying, “Harry.” The glass fogged, and while it did so, she cast a Tempus charm. <em> 21:18 </em>. She winced. It would have passed two am in London.</p><p>“Hermione? Are you okay?” the freckled face of Ginny Potter came into frame. “I woke up and the mirror was glowing. Harry said he got a message from you just before we headed to bed that you couldn’t talk tonight.”</p><p>“Sorry, Ginny, I forgot the time difference,” she replied, blushing. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”</p><p>Just as she was about to say she would call Harry back in the morning, she heard a masculine groan. “Is that Hermione?” she heard her best friend reaching for his glasses and saw his face appear, bleary-eyed, in the mirror. “Is everything okay?”</p><p>“Yes, yes, Harry,” she said dismissively. “Go back to sleep. It can wait until morning, I forgot how late it would be over there.”</p><p>“No,” he said, shaking his shaggy head. “I’m awake now and I haven’t spoken to you in weeks.”</p><p>Hermione sighed, “I know. I’m sorry, work has been busy and -”</p><p>She cut off at Harry’s incredulous expression. “Because running an Auror department at the age of thirty is super relaxing,” he deadpanned.</p><p>“Touche,” she conceded. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know I left in a hurry and-”</p><p>Harry’s sigh cut her off mid-sentence again. Confused when his face disappeared and she was gazing at a ceiling, she waited while she heard him mutter something to his wife. She heard the shuffling of sheets before her friend’s face reappeared. “I’m going downstairs and you’re going to watch me make a cup of tea while we catch up.” The smile he gave her melted her heart. She missed him, Ginny, and the kids. All of the day’s frustrations dissipated and she slumped down on her sofa.</p><p>“Okay,” she said gently. And true to his word, Harry propped her on a kitchen counter in Grimmauld Place while he set about making tea. Realising she still had yet to eat she made her way over to her tiny kitchenette, levitated the mirror and set to cooking. Due to the limited space of her flat, she had needed to get creative with her cooking. She had never been so grateful for stasis charms and tinned food. She plucked a can of five beans and chopped tomatoes as well as collecting a variety of spices from her cupboard.</p><p>Her training in the DADA was rigorous as she was expected to be fully educated in hand to hand combat as well as defensive magic. It was more intense than even the Auror programme as some hell and heaven made beings were resistant to magic. The late nights in the office had leant themselves to creating unhealthy habits that she did not want to pick up. She had worked hard to recover from the period they were on the run and immediately after the war when she was malnourished and in shock.</p><p>“How are the children?” she asked as she started frying up her spices with a fresh onion she managed to find.</p><p>“They’re good,” Harry replied. “James is living up to his namesake and Lily is going through the terrible twos worse than either of the boys ever did. But Ginny said that growing up with the twins meant that she can guess James’s moves before he makes them and that Lily has nothing on her at the same age.”</p><p>“Your wife is a saint,” Hermione said, glancing up from her cooking to peek over her shoulder at the floating mirror. She grinned at the sight of her best friend. His permanently untidy hair was standing on end and there was a days’ worth of scruff on his jaw. His emerald eyes were tired but the gentle smile on his lips was genuine. He was clutching his mug with both hands, hunched over as though the tea would warm his bones. She peeked back at the saucepan. “I could not juggle three kids under five, a husband and a Quidditch career.”</p><p>Harry shrugged, “She learned from the best.” Hermione could not disagree. If there was anyone to learn how to multitask from it was Molly Weasley. “She’s quitting Quidditch.”</p><p>Hermione almost dropped her wooden spoon as she whipped back to the mirror. “She’s what? But she loves Quidditch.”</p><p>“This is why we need to do this more often,” he admonished, gently. “She’s taking a job at the Prophet as their sports editor. She feels like she’s missing out on the kids, being away from them with games. Between my work and hers, I don’t really blame her for feeling that way. Albus asked the other day when he was moving in with Nana Moll.”</p><p>“Ooh. that’s tough,” Hermione grimaced. “I know I should call more, but I honestly have been busy with work.”</p><p>“I know, Hermione, but we worry, y’know?” She turned back to the hob and added the tin of tomatoes. “When you left… it was so soon after Ron and Luna…”</p><p>She did not look back when she talked this time, “I know. That wasn’t the reason though. Ron and I… I love him, Harry, I do, but the last year… it was like we were trying so hard to make it work that we forgot why we were trying to make it work.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know,” he sighed. “Do you at least get out and meet people?” She still refused to acknowledge the man she considered a brother. “<em> Hermione </em>. For fuck’s sake.”</p><p>“Language,” she admonished. “I know,” she said. She waved her wand and a pan filled itself with water to boil before a packet of brown rice floated over and poured the right amount into the bubbling water.</p><p>“So,” Harry said. “What’s the case?” Hermione peered up at the mirror and blushed. During school Harry was not the best at picking up on clues, however, over a decade as an Auror had honed his detective skills. His emerald eyes twinkled in the infuriating way Dumbledore’s were known to as he sipped his tea.</p><p>“Who said there was a case?”</p><p>“You did,” he quipped. “You admitted to not having a social life, and we weren’t even supposed to have this chat tonight because of work.”</p><p>“Fine,” she huffed, shifted back to her cooking for a moment to lower down the heat on the tomatoes. “There may be a case. You know I told you that over here there are Muggles that hunt the same stuff I do? Well, I met one about a week ago. Between him, Malone and Moody I’m not sure who would win the scowling competition. Anyway, he told me about two other hunters. Brothers, about our age.”</p><p>“Okay, I’m not sure I see a case…”</p><p>“I’m getting there,” she scolded. “The brothers, Dean and Sam, were involved in some stuff last year. Stuff that would have put our school days to shame,” at this Harry’s brows almost disappeared beneath his mop of messy black hair, but she continued. “Yeah. They reminded me of us, Fighting the good fight. And Sam, he’s… well it seems… to have lost… his soul… in hell…”</p><p>Harry’s eyes widened, mouth agape. “You… What… Did you just say… soul? In hell?” She nodded. Harry ran one large hand through his mop of black hair, a sign he was taking a beat before responding. “How is he functioning?”</p><p>“It’s not like a Dementor’s kiss. It wasn’t that it was removed, he just left it behind. He’s a shell but not in the same way.”</p><p>“Okay. What do you need?”</p><p>“The Master of Death.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Your comments, bookmarks and kudos always make me smile</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Highway to Hell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I would once again like to thank mimifreed for being the most incredible alpha and all the tireless work that Charlie9646 and TakingFlight48 put in as my betas!</p><p>A quick note. I've played with the idea of Death's ring a little bit so that it matches the Gaunt ring/Resurrection Stone.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Bang, bang, bang! </em>
</p><p>“Granger, get up!”</p><p>
  <em> Bang, bang, bang! </em>
</p><p>Hermione groaned. Hank Malone was going to die a very painful death. He had once again interrupted a pleasant dream about a tall man with sandy hair and forest green eyes. Growling, she shoved her covers off her and threw her door open.</p><p>“Seriously, Malone? Why can’t this wait until I come into the office?”</p><p>“I brought coffee this time,” he said, casually. He cautiously handed her a brown paper cup.</p><p>She took it, still pouting slightly, “I prefer tea.”</p><p>“Not this morning, you don’t,” he replied. She rolled her eyes. As Hermione had the morning before, she flicked her wand to fold her bed into a sofa, grabbed a change of clothes and towel and headed to the bathroom. Once she shut the door, she looked at her hair and frowned. The mass was more frizz than curls.</p><p>“How long do I have?” she yelled through the door.</p><p>“Enough time,” came the reply. Hermione took that as code for ‘wash your bird’s nest’ and the liberty of taking her time. Once she had completed her morning routine and almost taken out the sink getting dressed, she exited the bathroom.</p><p>“I’m starting to think that he’s the reason you come over in the mornings,” she commented. Just like the morning before, the stern man was cooing over her cantankerous half-Kneazle. “He usually doesn’t like people.”</p><p>“Good judge of character then,” Malone returned. “Ready?”</p><p>“Yeah, where are we heading?”</p><p>“Motel. Bobby called me this mornin’. Said we need to get over there as quickly as we could.”</p><p>Hermione swirled around, hands on her shapely hips. “You said I had enough time.”</p><p>He shrugged, “I figured I’d let them stew.”</p><p>Hermione shook her head in disbelief before marching to the alley beside her building.</p><p>When they landed in the older hunter’s room, she felt like she had entered a war zone.</p><p>“That’s the stupidest fuckin’ plan you’ve had since that time you wanted to see if chickens floated!” Bobby was yelling at Dean. Sam was laid on one of the beds flicking through a magazine.</p><p>“You heard her last night. Death is the answer, we still have the ring-”</p><p>“Excuse me,” Hermione cut them off. All three men turned to her in surprise, “You have the resurrection ring?”</p><p>Dean stared at her as though she had grown a second head, “Resurrection ring?”</p><p>“You said you have Death’s ring,” she said slowly.</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Gold. Sort of old fashioned. Big black stone in it?”</p><p>“That’s it, but -”</p><p>“How did you get it?”</p><p>“Death gave it to us to open the cage.”</p><p>Hermione sighed, “You’d think he’d have learned giving his possessions away is inadvisable by now.”</p><p>“What’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p>“It doesn’t matter.”</p><p>A cough came from across the room, “Are you done?” asked Sam, bored. Hermione looked over at the tall man perplexed.</p><p>“Er, sorry?” she asked.</p><p>“That’s okay,” he replied.</p><p>“Granger,” Malone cut in. “How about you explain to the rest of the class what you ran off to do last night?”</p><p>“Oh, right,” she said sheepishly. She had forgotten that she had disappeared suddenly the night before with no explanation. “I know how we can get Sam’s soul back.” Peering around the room, all the men were examining her expectantly. “Death.”</p><p>“See!” Dean exclaimed, gesturing wildly at her. “I’ll go to Dr Robert -”</p><p>“Shut up, you idjit!” Bobby snapped. “You won’t be killin’ yourself -”</p><p>“I’ll only die a little bit -”</p><p>“No one has to kill themselves,” Hermione interjected, baffled. “Merlin, what is it with men in my vicinity and sacrifice,” she muttered. “No, it just takes a little trip to Scotland.”</p><p>“Come again,” Dean said.</p><p>“I have connections,” Hermione hedged.</p><p>“To Death? In Scotland?”</p><p>“Yes, that’s what I was doing last night,” she confirmed.</p><p>“You went to Scotland?”</p><p>“No, don’t be silly. International Apparition that far is way too risky.”</p><p>“Oh, of course.”</p><p>“Seriously, guys, will you please stop flirting?” Sam sighed, irritated. Hermione and Dean turned to the dark haired hunter, bewildered.</p><p>“What the fuck, dude?” Dean asked.</p><p>“Language,” Hermione scolded, automatically. “Anyway, I spoke to my… source. He’s agreed to meet me this weekend.”</p><p>“Us,” Dean said.</p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p>“Look, no offence, but this is my brother’s soul on the line. I’m not leaving it up to a chick I barely know. A witch, at that.”</p><p>“Offence very much taken,” Hermione shot back, but considered what he said. She understood where he was coming from. If roles were reversed and Harry or Ron or Ginny’s soul was on the line, she would probably find it hard to trust a hunter to save them. “Fine. How are you with flying?”</p><p>At that Sam burst out laughing and Dean paled.</p><hr/><p>Over the next few days, the strange group buried themselves in research. Hermione was pleasantly surprised that all four men were willing to put in the effort. Having grown up with Harry and Ron, who she often felt needed the extra push to apply themselves, it was a relief not to be carrying the weight of the case on her shoulders. Bobby had invited them all back to his salvage yard to start planning. She had agreed but Hank had opted to stay in New York. He wanted to get a handle on the situation brewing between Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory. He would still pop in intermittently to relay new information or with scrolls and texts that Hermione had requested.</p><p>Apparating between New York and Sioux Falls was, while not impossible, severely inadvisable. When the week began Hermione had <em> such </em> good intentions. She set up a series of Portkeys to take her from New York early in the morning and return from Sioux Falls well after dark. She knew it was a futile effort after the first night. </p><p>Hermione made her nest, surrounded by books and scrolls, on the threadbare, sunken red sofa in the older hunter’s study. She was not sure when she fell asleep, but she awoke the following morning with a crick in her neck. During the night, someone had placed a heavy patchwork blanket over her. It smelled of leather, motor oil, and cedar.</p><p>“Coffee?” Dean asked, when he spotted that she was awake.</p><p>“Is there any tea?” she replied. He rolled his eyes muttering about Brits but started searching the kitchen cabinets. He managed to find a single teabag. She watched as he filled a milk pan with water and boiled it on the stove.</p><p>“Where’s the kettle?” she asked.</p><p>“Er, why would Bobby have a kettle?”</p><p>Hermione looked at the sandy haired hunter incredulously, “To boil water?”</p><p>“That’s what a stove is for,” he retorted, shrugging, just as Sam walked into the kitchen. When the water was boiled, he carefully poured it into a coffee-stained mug over the teabag.</p><p>“What’s the point of hot tea, anyway?” Sam asked as Dean handed her the mug. Hermione glared at him before moving to the fridge for some milk to add to her tea.</p><p>Despite their rocky start, she and Dean were managing to find a rhythm. The second morning she had woken up on the sofa, he had offered to take her to the local store to get some supplies. Grateful, Hermione had agreed quickly, keen to pick up a tube of toothpaste and other essentials, ever thankful her trusty beaded bag had enough clothing in it to last an army a week. </p><p>Sighing heavily Hermione looked over her purchases; she had managed to gather everything she needed apart from one thing. She tried to remember her holidays in France with her parents. She headed to the biscuit aisle. True to form, to the right of a stack of Oreo’s, was a bright yellow box. She grimaced at the Lipton Yellow label, but without any other options headed to the till.</p><p>Just as she was reaching for her purse, Dean put his hand over hers, “It’s on me.”</p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p>“Least I can do with what you’re doing for us,” he smiled. The moment she saw the name on the card he pulled out to pay, however, she scowled.</p><p>He chuckled down at her. “Hunting ain’t a paying gig, sweetheart.”</p><p>
  <span>Over the following days, she arose each morning she was greeted by Dean holding out a mug of perfectly brewed tea. She had managed to make the space she had commandeered on the sofa somewhat comfortable, but she found that the pain in her neck was becoming unbearable. Halfway through the week, Hermione had mentioned it to Dean. The following morning she had woken up to one of the sofa cushions placed gently behind her head in her sleep.</span>
</p><p>Dean slowly started to open up to her a little more regarding the last few years. It began as things that she needed to know as part of her research, however, soon it started to include more personal details. He struck Hermione as someone who typically would not share such things freely, so she treated everything he told her with the respect she knew it deserved. Still, she knew he was holding something back. She, in turn, opened up to him slightly. Hermione had not realised how lonely she felt until she started to confess to him. She only shared little things. Mainly so that he would be prepared for the reception they may receive when they arrived in Britain.</p><p>Two days before they were due to fly to London, Dean approached her. She was immersed in her research, the customary pile of books at her feet and scrolls spread out beside her. A quill was tucked behind her ear, wild curls piled on top of her head, and a tome on her lap with her feet tucked beneath her. His nervous approach made her pause in her reading and give him her full attention. The way he was fidgeting made her sit up straighter. She thought that whatever he had been holding back all week was about to be exposed. Hermione met his forest green eyes with her chocolate ones. The fear there made her worried.</p><p>“Hey,” she said gently, as though approaching a skittish deer.</p><p>“Hey,” he returned, face softening. Whatever he found in her gaze seemed to relax him slightly. “There’s… There’s something that I didn’t tell you before.”</p><p>“Okay,” Hermione coaxed.</p><p>“It’s about Sam’s soul.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, a habit that Hermione had seen frequently while in Sioux Falls. </p><p>When he did not continue, she moved the papers on the sofa beside her and indicated for him to sit. As he sat she was suddenly very aware of how close he was. He smelled of her patchwork blanket, motor oil, leather, and something fresh. Sitting this close, without bantering or debating, Hermione noticed that his eyes were a striking mix of jade and forest green, framed by the longest and darkest eyelashes she had ever seen. His freckles light, dusting his nose and cheekbones, an indication of a childhood spent outside. And his lips… </p><p>She quickly snapped her eyes back to his. She coughed to snap herself out of where her mind had just gone. “What about Sam’s soul?”</p><p>He hesitated again. “Cas said… He warned me that… It’s been in the cage, with two extremely powerful archangels. I… Shit… He said that… With all your witchy, hocus pocus, have you ever read about healing a broken soul? A… A soul that… Goddamnit!” he exclaimed, breaking their eye contact.</p><p>Sensing that he was feeling guilty for whatever may have happened to Sam’s soul in hell, she reached for his hand. “I can look into it. There… I know a place to start but, well, this is new to us too. Soulless people in the wizarding world, they don’t function as well as Sam is right now.” Dean scoffed. “I mean it, Dean. They… Have you ever seen someone just… exist? A shell of a human being? I have. The fact that Sam can get up in the morning is a <em> good </em> sign, Dean.”</p><p>“But what if he goes from being the kinda shell he is now to another one. Do you have a way… Dammit... His soul will have been tortured down there. For a year and a half. I know…” he flinched, pain flashing across his face.</p><p>“I will do everything in my power to bring your brother back to you, Dean,” she vowed solemnly. His eyes flicked back to her at her firm tone. The raw emotion swimming through them made her breath hitch. She was suddenly hyper-aware of the heat from his hand under hers. And that her knee was brushing his. And the way her stomach seemed to have filled with butterflies.</p><p>“Thank you,” he said, so softly she almost missed it.</p><p>A creek of a floorboard somewhere in the house broke their trance.</p><p>“Right,” Hermione said. “Okay. Erm, I’m going to send a message to Malone. I just read something in one of these books that might be able to help.”</p><p>Dean coughed, “Okay. Great.”</p><p>Reluctantly, she withdrew her hand from on top of his and moved to the hallway. She ignored the tingling she felt beneath her fingertips. And that she was thinking of his eyes when she cast the Patronus that sent the message.</p><hr/><p>The moment they stepped foot off the aeroplane and entered London Heathrow, Hermione released a breath she did not know she had been holding. Even the cold September air and drizzle speckling the windows could not dampen her mood.</p><p>Since Dean had mentioned that Sam’s soul may need more healing than she originally thought, Hermione had not left her research behind. <span>She tried to pretend that the reason that she had returned to her flat that night was because it was easier for packing and to be closer to the MACUSA archives. That it had nothing to do with the moment on the red, worn out sofa. But t</span>he blank look on Dean’s face continued to resurface at the oddest times between then and now.  The lack of goodbye before she was whisked away by Portkey had settled deep in her gut.  Once in her little flat, the loneliness over the following thirty-six hours only exacerbated the loss of <em> him </em>. </p><p>Hermione chuckled as she thought over the flight from JFK to London. It had been awkward as she learned that Dean was a very anxious flyer.</p><p>“Here, drink some of this,” Hermione offered, placing a bottle of Calming Draught in front of him. <span>When he looked at her suspiciously she quirked her eyebrow at him.</span> “If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it a long time ago.”</p><p>The effects were instant, and he relaxed comfortably into his seat beside her.</p><p>She had not known how exhausted she was from the week's events until she woke up halfway over the Atlantic, slumped on Dean’s shoulder. He was fast asleep, mouth agape, head resting on top of hers. By the time the plane touched down on the tarmac, he was sitting upright, nervously flicking through the in-flight magazine. She realised that the effects of the potion had likely worn off during his sleep but just as she was about to offer him another swig, an announcement came that landing would be in a few minutes.</p><p>Passport control was swift, though Hermione did cast a subtle Confundus charm on the officer who looked at Dean’s documents suspiciously.</p><p>“James Page? Really? You couldn’t have even gone with Patrick?”</p><p>“Usually works,” Dean shrugged, looking impressed that she knew the guitarist’s middle name. “Where now?”</p><p>“We’ll head into the city, I have rooms booked at a pub there. We can freshen up and then I have arranged to meet someone who might have some information on how to heal Sam’s soul.”</p><p>“Sounds like a plan, but I still can’t believe you made me leave Baby behind.”</p><p>She rolled her eyes, “I am not shrinking a car and bringing it on a plane! The weapons were a stretch,” she hissed, gesturing at his bag.</p><p>“Gotta be prepared.”</p><p>“Yeah, model Boy Scout, you are,” she quipped. “Come on, Baden Powell, let’s find somewhere we can Apparate from.”</p><p>Dean shivered. “Do we have to? I want to puke every time we do that zapping thing.”</p><p>She shook her head at him before grabbing his hand, “Come on!”</p><hr/><p>Hermione hoped the blush on her cheeks was not obvious to Dean when he walked into the room with a towel wrapped around his hips. She also hoped that he could not feel her watching him as he was searching through his duffel bag for some fresh clothes. On their arrival, Hermione had led Dean through the city to the Leaky Cauldron. She had explained that to an ordinary Muggle, certain places would be concealed. Since he worked with supernatural beings, she suspected that the Muggle repelling charms were less likely to work on him. When they reached their destination they had discovered that only one room was booked and the rest of the rooms were occupied for the duration of their trip.</p><p>“I’m really sorry about this,” she said. His head shot up, his forest green eyes meeting her chocolate brown. “I thought there would at least be a sofa for me to transfigure. I can always send a note to Harry to see if I could stay there for the night.”</p><p>“It’s okay, I’ve slept in worse places than the floor of this joint,” he replied.</p><p>“Oh, don’t be so silly,” she said. “I’ll put an extension charm on the bed. I’m not going to have you injuring yourself before we’ve even begun.”</p><p>“If you wanted me in your bed, all you had to do was ask,” he smirked. Hermione felt her cheeks flushing a deeper red. She looked down at the text on her lap to avoid his gaze. “You find anything useful in there?”</p><p>“Maybe,” Hermione said. “I’ve been looking into soul healing magic. I hope whatever the contact we’re meeting later can come up with will be helpful. We’re due to meet them soon if you’re up for that.”</p><p>Dean nodded, “Sure, just give me a moment,” he said, gesturing to the pile of clothes in his arms before moving back to their bathroom.</p><p>Hermione pretended not to notice the dimples in his back just above where the towel sat. <span>Returning, instead, to reading the scroll she had brought with her from the MACUSA archives</span>. It was from a now-defunct Muggle organisation who researched supernatural beings relating to the use of Dementors, or Shtriga as they were called in the scroll. They were not only a creature that removed a soul, but also a conduit for restoring it. She had reached out to a contact in the Department of Mysteries who was working on soul magic that had ties to the British chapter of the Muggle organisation. Hermione hoped that there was a way to use the information to heal Sam’s soul before it was replaced into his body. She absentmindedly twirled a curl that had fallen from where she had piled her hair on top of her head with her right hand. With the other, she was furiously scrawling notes on a scrap of parchment.</p><p>“That important, huh?” Dean asked from the doorway to the bathroom. He was casually leaning against the doorframe, dressed in his customary flannel shirt, dark jeans, and sturdy boots. The countenance on his face was somewhere between amused and intrigued.</p><p>“I’m sorry?”</p><p>“You’re scribbling on that piece of paper while reading, and twirling your hair at the front,” he said. “Means what you’ve got in front of you is something big. If it’s something you don’t agree with, you play with your hair at your neck.”</p><p>“You… You know my research tells?” Hermione asked, bewildered. She had never expected him to learn her in that way in such a small amount of time.</p><p>He shrugged, “It’s my job to be able to read people.” Dean pushed himself off the doorframe and sat next to her on the bed, peering over her shoulder at what she was reading. “What are Dementors?” </p><p>Hermione chose not to acknowledge the way that his breath tickled the hairs on the back of her neck.  “You might know them as Shtrigas? They’re the creatures I was telling you about. I’m hoping that they’ll be able to help with restoring your brother.”</p><p>At her words, his face went cold. “I’m not letting one of those things near Sam.”</p><p>“Dean, it might-”</p><p>“No!” he bellowed, leaping to his feet. The tone he was using was unlike anything he had used before. “I have watched what those things do.”</p><p>“But, Dean, we can control them. I would -”</p><p>“Control them? Monsters can’t be controlled.”</p><p>“Please, Dean, I told you -”</p><p>“Listen, <em> lady </em> , I’m not going to let a soul <em> sucking </em> , kiddy <em> killing </em> , mutant <em> monster </em> near my fucking brother. Soulless or not.”</p><p>Hermione recoiled. The venom in his voice and the way his broad frame towered over her made her body shrink away from him. She felt wetness on her cheeks and was suddenly aware that it was tears. Then she got angry.</p><p>“I told you I would find a way to get your brother back,” she hissed. “I told you it had never been done. I don’t know whether you’ve noticed, <em> Dean </em> ,” she spat his name with so much vitriol that he flinched, “but I have kept my word. I am exploring <em> every </em> option and at every turn, you have fought me.” To her horror, tears were running freely down her face. She was not sure if it was out of anger, or fear, or something else. “I don’t need to be doing this. But I <em> am </em>. Because for some stupid reason I feel like I am supposed to help you.”</p><p>“Well don’t feel like you gotta do anything for us, <em> sweetheart </em>! We were getting on just fine before you came along!”</p><p>That snapped something in her. “I am going to meet Luna,” she said in an even tone. “She has, at my request, put herself in jeopardy to help <em> you </em>. I suggest that if you want your brother whole, you listen to what she has to say.”</p><p>“Fine. But don’t expect me to like it,” he said, grabbing his leather jacket and stomping from the room. </p><p>As soon as the door slammed behind him, Hermione deflated. She swore to herself after things ended between her and Ron that she would never let another man make her cry. She screamed in frustration, before walking over to the bathroom and splashing her face with cool water. When she descended the stairs she saw Dean waiting for her at the bar. She watched as he threw back a shot of Firewhisky and flinched slightly.</p><p>“I see you’ve discovered our alcohol already,” she deadpanned. “Only took you two hours.”</p><p>“Yeah, well, I needed something to take the edge off today.”</p><p>“It’s not over yet,” she shot back. “Come on, I don’t want to keep Luna waiting.” </p><p>Dean nodded and reached for his wallet. </p><p>Hermione reached out and placed a hand on top of his to stop him. “It’s on me. Different currency here, anyway,” she smiled and hoped he saw it for the olive branch it was intended to be. </p><p>He hesitated before nodding. She placed a sickle and a few knuts on the bar before leading him through the back of the pub and onto Diagon Alley. She stepped through the archway onto the street. There was a bite of autumn in the air and the skies were dreary, but Hermione could not help but find comfort in the familiar sombreness of September in London. It took her a moment to realise that she was alone and turned back to see Dean staring in awe. She smiled, remembering her first time in the magical street in London. “Are you coming?”</p><p>He did not say a word, simply stepped forward to walk beside her. Within a few moments, they reached the cafe they were meant to meet Hermione’s blonde friend. After telling Dean to take a seat at one of the tables, she ordered their beverages and returned to him. When the waitress set her order in front of them, he looked over at her. “Is there whisky in this?”</p><p>“Just a nifter,” she smirked. Dean smirked back and Hermione was glad they were settling into the familiar banter. “Dean -” she started before she was cut off by a petite, blonde woman taking a seat at the table.</p><p>“Hello, Hermione,” Luna beamed. “You’re looking effervescent today,” she commented. “You must be Dean,” she said, turning to the hunter. Her wide blue eyes examined a spot above his head. “Your Wrackspurts are a rather interesting colour.”</p><p>Confused, Dean looked up at where she was looking, then looked at Hermione for confirmation. She continued to sip her Earl Grey, smiling around her mug. Rather than explain her friend, she turned to the younger woman, “What did you find out, Luna?”</p><p>The petite witch turned to her before she reached into her pocket. She pulled out a bundle of papers and enlarged them. “Well, we have been monitoring this for a few years. I have personally found the role of intention in magic fascinating. As well as the conversations I have had with the old Dementor Negotiation Department. Quite lovely people. It was a shame what happened to them after the reforms.”</p><p>Hermione bit her tongue at the remark. It had taken a lot of campaigning on the part of certain people who had fought in the war to get the necessary justice system reform. A part of that was the abolition of the Dementor’s Kiss due to the number of false convictions in the First Wizarding War. The Dementors were also eventually dismissed as the guards of Azkaban. The people in the DND were eventually rounded up and some tried for the wrongful execution of a prisoner. “Did they have any ideas on soul magic and soul healing?” she asked instead.</p><p>“Oh yes,” Luna said in her soft tone. “I spoke to Daniel, a lovely wizard from Chester whose aura is very red. He was partially responsible for Barty Crouch Jr’s Kiss and was telling me that Fudge suppressed some research happening at the time about restoring souls. It seems that Professor Dumbledore had started his research into Voldemort’s Horcruxes and was very angry about what happened. As part of Fudge’s plan to control Gringotts, he did not want Dumbledore to be able to repair Barty’s soul.”</p><p>“What did the research find?” Hermione asked, watching Dean’s bewildered face from the corner of her eye.</p><p>“Dementors don’t eat souls.” At Dean’s scoff, Luna turned to him, puzzled. “Oh no. They are not allowed to. They are angels of death, you see. They take souls to their final destination. But it seems that many years ago, wizards corrupted them and so they no longer have access to heaven or hell. It seems, before then, they were able to give their grace to souls that needed healing the most.”</p><p>“Wait,” Dean said, speaking for the first time. “You’re telling me that a Shtriga can do backsies?”</p><p>Luna frowned, “I don’t know what you mean, but no. Shtriga cannot restore a soul. They are damned souls, wraiths, of dark witches and wizards. They are not the making of the divine, they are purely the corrupted.” Luna paused a moment to sip the orange juice that she had ordered to the table. “Dementors are Death’s angels. They are the creators of reapers. They can give the breath of life, ruacḥ, to those who they deem worthy. The one true vessel to an archangel for example.”</p><p>Dean looked at Luna, astonished, “How did you…?” he trailed off.</p><p>“The Nargles,” she replied, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Dean continued to stare at her, flabbergasted. Hermione had to hide a snort as she realised that she had never seen Dean speechless before.</p><p>“Thank you, Luna,” she said. I will read this and get it back to you as soon as I have my notes.</p><p>“Oh, that is quite alright, Hermione,” Luna replied, her intense gaze turning to the older woman. “His Wrackspurts are the same colour as yours.” With that, the flaxen haired woman got to her feet. “It was lovely to see you again, Hermione. Lovely to meet you, Dean. I need to be going back. Souls to save.” Without waiting for a goodbye from her companions, she turned and floated out of the cafe.</p><p>“Do we trust that chick?” Dean asked.</p><p>“Implicitly,” Hermione answered.</p><hr/><p>Dean sat in the bar of the Leaky Cauldron sipping on what he had discovered was called Firewhisky. He was trying to wrap his head around the last few days. And there was a lot to wrap his head around. Sam could get his soul back. No strings attached, no deals, no price. All because of one little witch. And what a witch she was. He flung back another shot of the fiery liquid.</p><p>Hermione was another thing to wrap his head around. He had never met a woman like her. She was strong, and determined, and intelligent. Never had anyone, man, woman or otherwise, been able to keep up with him the way she did. The closest he had was Jo, but she was always more like a sister. The thoughts that he was having about Hermione were not what anyone should have about their sister. An image of her, cheeks flushed, hair wild, and eyes dark flashed across his mind. Dean poured another two fingers of amber liquid. </p><p>Ever since the curly haired witch had popped into his life, he had felt a draw to her. He wondered if she felt it too. An unexplained pull. He did not realise what was happening until Sam had mentioned it. “Why do you put that blanket on her every night?” Dean had not known the answer. All he knew was that when he had seen the woman curled around a book in the most awkward position, he felt a staggering urge to look after her. Dean had avoided whatever had been happening between them since he asked her to help with Sam’s soul. Really help. When he had bared himself to her in a way that he had not opened up in a long time. The conviction in her voice that day had pulled him closer to her.</p><p>
  <em> “I will do everything in my power to bring your brother back to you, Dean.” </em>
</p><p>They had been so close. Her small, cool hand on top of his. Her knee brushing his. And then she had left for New York and he felt betrayed. Dean was not sure why, but it was like he had laid himself at her feet and Hermione had not even thought to look. There had been some residual feelings there when he met her at the airport. Add to that a genuine fear they would fall out of the sky at any moment in the following hours and Dean was on edge. Then there was the magic she was suggesting. Another image of her flashed through his head earlier in the day. Her chocolate eyes wide, tears on her cheeks, and her body small. The sight of her so vulnerable had made him stop in his tracks. That Hermione was so upset with him was a surprise. The fire that burned in her when she realised that she had shown him that side of her was enticing. Dean shook his head. This was getting him nowhere.</p><p>Hermione was keen to go over the papers that her strange friend had given her as soon as they were back from the meeting. He had told her he would meet her in their room. That was - he glanced at his watch - four hours ago. Dean sighed and slipped off the barstool that he had been perching on before climbing the stairs. When he reached the room Dean was sharing with the strong woman, he found her cross-legged on the bed, hair loose, a small frown on her brow. He watched her from the doorway as Hermione brushed a curl behind her ear with her left hand. Dean frowned when something on her forearm caught his eye in the candlelight.  He finally passed the threshold into their room and snapped the door shut behind him.</p><p>“What’s that?” he asked, surprised at the anger in his tone.</p><p>Hermione jumped slightly in surprise, clearly having not noticed him enter the room. “It’s the document that Luna gave me.”</p><p>“No,” he growled, “that,” Dean said pointing to her arm. “On your arm.”</p><p>“Sugar,” she whispered under her breath. “The glamour must have worn off. It’s nothing. Really, just -”</p><p><span>Hermione petered off as he sat on the bed beside her and grabbed her arm and flipped it over. </span> When he had seen it from the door, Dean had thought that it might have been an injury from an attempted suicide in her youth. He was not expecting to see a word carved into her skin. “What’s a Mudblood?”</p><p>She pulled her arm back and cradled it to her chest. “It doesn’t matter. It’s an old scar from a long time ago.”</p><p>“What does it mean?” Dean asked, his blood boiling.</p><p>Hermione looked at him in shock and he realised he was still talking at a louder volume than was necessary. “It… It really… Dirty blood. It… It means dirty blood.”</p><p>“What? How can blood be dirty?”</p><p>She scoffed. “You know how you thought I was pure evil when we first met?”</p><p>He grimaced, unable to even comprehend how he could have thought that, but nodded. “There was a war when I was a teenager. And the people on the other side thought I, and people like me, had stolen my powers too. But not for the same reason.” Dean felt his stomach drop. Her eyes were glazed in a way so familiar to him that his skin itched. “My parents, they were Muggles, not magical at all. My blood, according to some, is dirty because of them. It makes me inhuman.”</p><p>Dean stared down at her astonished. And something hit him in the gut. His thoughts when they first met were not far off what she had just described. He felt sick. “I… I know… I don’t… You…”</p><p>“It’s okay, Dean,” Hermione said, her eyes meeting his. “I know.”</p><p>He closed his eyes and turned away from her, unable to look at her.</p><p>“It was a long time ago,” she said softly. “Torture is a part of war.”</p><p>That made his blood boil, “Where’s the son of a bitch now?”</p><p>“Language,” Hermione chided. “Dead. Long dead.” Dean kept his back to her, unable to meet her eyes. He heard the shuffling of paper and the creek of the bed before he felt her hand on his shoulder, “Please, Dean, look at me.” The softness of her voice was heartbreaking.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he said, voice cracking.</p><p>“You didn’t do this to me,” she assured. A lump formed in his throat.</p><p>“Not to you. But…” Dean paused. He could not tell her. Not about hell or what he had done there. “About what I said earlier…”</p><p>Her hand ran over his shoulder and down his arm, “Already forgotten.” He turned to look at her then and was startled by how close they were. Dean could see the flecks of amber in her chocolate eyes. And the way her nose turned up slightly at the end. And the slight swell of one side of her lower lip where she chewed it. His eyes flicked from her eyes to her lips and back to her eyes again before leaning in.</p><p>Dean instantly wondered what he had been doing until that point. It was like an ember was ignited in his body. How had he gone his entire lifetime without his lips pressed to hers? Hermione tasted like fire and cinnamon and something so uniquely her. Her chapped, full lips pliable beneath his own. He reached up to cup her jaw, stroking the soft skin of her cheek with his rough thumb.<span> Dean twisted himself to face her fully</span>, wanting to be near her. Hooking his hands behind her knees, he flipped them so she cradled him between her strong legs. Hermione made a delightful squeal as he pinned her beneath him. Dean savoured the sensation of her soft, strong body below his. He held both her wrists above her head in one hand, while the other traced patterns on her skin beneath her top. Nipping and sucking, he trailed his lips from her mouth up to her ear and down her slender neck.</p><p>“Fuck,” Hermione gasped when his hand slipped under her bra. He smirked into her skin at the sound of the word falling from her lips. She arched into his touch as he caressed her firm breast, teasing her nipple into a taut peak. </p><p>His mouth continued to blaze a trail over her supple skin. He was heady with lust as the scent of her rose and strawberry perfume filled his nostrils. Dean paused when his eyes landed on an angry scar that started below her collar and disappeared beneath her t-shirt. Looking up at her face, he saw it was flushed the most delicious shade of pink and her eyes were dark with lust. When their eyes met Dean felt a surge of some unknown emotion fill his body. In the blink of an eye, he had one hand behind her and the other grasping her thigh. Keeping her legs firmly around his waist, he spun them so he was beneath her, pulling her into his lap. She squealed at the sudden change of position. He groaned as she brushed against his rapidly hardening cock. In a swift movement, Dean tugged her top over her head to get a better look at the blemish to her otherwise perfect skin. He could feel her heavy-lidded eyes on him as he took in the valleys and plains offered to him. He ran his hands over every inch of soft skin he could reach, marvelling at the way her muscles twitched under his manipulations. Her lithe, strong body was bowing to his every touch. His calloused fingertips ghosted over the scar with a featherlight caress.</p><p>“Shit,” Hermione moaned, shivering beneath his touch. </p><p>Dean chuckled. “Language,” he growled playfully before capturing her lips once more. He moved his hands around her body and unclasped her bra before tossing it aside. He once again moved his mouth down her neck and over her collarbone, nuzzling at her silky smooth skin as she writhed beneath his ardent care. He scorched his lips over the puckered, tight skin of the scar, following the line between her breasts and down her ribs. Her hands were tugging at his short hair, guiding him. When he moved his lips up to her hardened nipple she rocked her hips wantonly against him. His hips bucked in response as Hermione grazed over the erection straining against his jeans. A sob fell, unbidden, from his lips when she ground down harder.</p><p>“Shit,” she whimpered again when she felt him through both their jeans. Dean could feel her wanting heat through the fabric, knowing what she was craving. He reached between them to start to unbuckle her jeans, but she flicked her wrist and he felt the cool night air hit the skin of everything below his waist. He looked up at her in surprise, but Hermione just smirked down at him. Abruptly, he felt her small, soft fingers wrap around his hardness and position him at her entrance. Dean could feel the slick heat of her against the head of his cock as she teased it against her slit.</p><p>“Holy fuck,” Hermione whispered, as she sunk down on him. </p><p>Her warm, wet heat enveloped him and he could swear he saw stars. He looked up at her as she lost herself in ecstasy. Her eyes closing as she moved on top of him, rolling her hips. Her tight pussy fit him like a glove. Dean traced runes on the skin of her strong thighs wanting to feel as it moved from hot to cold. Her muscular body moved with graceful ease as she set a steady pace that he matched with thrusts of his own. The candlelight made her skin glow a golden hue that enraptured him. He watched in awe as beads of sweat rolled between her breasts. Without losing their rhythm, he sat up and kissed her passionately. His calloused fingers continued drawing patterns, following the line of her curved spine. Hermione wiggled under every brush of his hand. He was thrilled by every clench of her thighs around his hips, every gasp that fell from her lips. Her small hands were on his shoulders, nails biting crescents into his tissue, as she bounced on him.  Not willing to lose all control to the witch, he gripped her hips firmly, rolling so that she was pressed beneath him once again, his cock still buried in her.</p><p> “Oh, shit, <em> Dean </em>!” she whimpered, head rolling back on the pillow in rapture. </p><p>He held her wrists above her head in one hand while the other grasped behind her firm thigh. Dean pistoned in and out of her tight channel at an unrelenting pace. Their slippery, sweat-soaked skin slapping furiously as he moved his hips against hers. He gloried at the sight of her, stretched out below him, body tight with delight. She wailed in pure bliss, urging him on. Her heels dug into his flesh, pulling him deeper. The delicious friction between them building as she met him thrust for thrust. Her body arched into every assault on her senses as he licked, touched, bit, sucked at any part of her that he could reach. His hands held her wrists firm as she bucked and jerked against the restraint, eager to touch him.</p><p>“Fuck, yes. Oh, shit,” Hermione repeated breathlessly as she climbed closer to her rapture. </p><p>Dean moved one hand to just above where their bodies joined and flicked at her clit. At his touch, she lost what little control she had, her movements becoming erratic. All too soon, he could feel her walls clamping down around him, sending him over the edge with her.</p><hr/><p>Hermione awoke to strong arms wrapped around her. Smiling to herself at the memories of the previous night. After their frantic sex, they had cleaned themselves up,  clambered under the sheets, exhausted by the day’s events. </p><p>Shuffling back into his body, his arms pulled her tighter to his hard chest. She smirked when she felt his hot, hard cock nestled against her soft arse. Playfully, she rolled her hips back, teasing him. His hips rocked forward automatically at the friction. Hermione repeated the action, wriggling closer to Dean. When he responded again, she pushed herself more firmly into him with a slower movement. He met her with each thrust.</p><p>“Good morning, little minx,” Dean growled in her ear, sleep and arousal heavy in his voice. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as a shiver ran right down her spine.</p><p>“Good morning,” Hermione smiled, not pausing in her actions. </p><p>She felt him shift behind her, unravelling one arm from around her waist. The loss of the weight made her whimper, but when his hips moved back slightly and his knuckles brushed the firm flesh of her arse, she understood what he wanted to do. She lifted her leg fractionally before she felt his hand brushing between her thighs. Hermione keened lowly as Dean placed his rock hard cock against her slickening folds, teasing her aching entrance. The arm that was still around her waist, trapped under its weight, pulled her more firmly against him as they continued rocking against the other. With his free hand, he lightly brushed curls at the nape of her neck aside before leaving lazy kisses. He then idly traced electrifying patterns on her skin. Slowly his textured fingertips grazed the soft skin at her collarbone, following the tight skin of the scar Dolohov had given her when she was sixteen. She arched into his touch as he moved to tease her nipples into firm peaks.</p><p>“Fuck, Dean,” she whispered.</p><p>“Ah, ah, ah,” he growled into her ear huskily. “Patience, little witch. You tease me, I tease you.”</p><p>Hermione sobbed in frustration at his words as Dean kept a tight grip around her waist, large, warm hand spread over her stomach. His lips ghosted over her shoulder and down her spine, sending tingles straight to her core. The free hand moved to bestow attention on her other breast, granting it the same treatment. His hips did not slow their steady pace, teasing her with languid strokes. She met each surge of his hips with her own, delighting at the feel of his silky hot shaft moving through her honeyed folds. The hand on her stomach began to gradually snake its way down towards her wanting slit.</p><p>“Oh, thank fuck, yes,” Hermione choked out, his fingers found her swollen clit.</p><p>He chuckled, lips brushing her ear, “You like that, little witch?” </p><p>She could not respond with anything coherent as Dean drove her wild with his caresses. He was matching the brush of the pad of his finger with the stroke of his hips. Her body ached with the need to be filled as he languorously massaged her bundle of nerves. She twitched and ground into him, a tension building deep within her.</p><p>“Fuck, Dean,” she panted. “I… Please.”</p><p>But he did not yield, continuing with his agonising pressure. Dean guided her closer and closer to the abyss as her head fell back against his chest. With the same lethargy, the hand on her breast meandered down her ribcage and over the side of her waist before gripping her thigh. Guiding her firmly, he hiked her leg up over his hip before driving himself into her.</p><p>“Shit, yes,” Hermione moaned; her blood was humming as waves of pleasure flooded her. </p><p>Unlike their coupling the night before, this was leisurely and deliberate. Dean’s strong arm restrained her against him, keeping their bodies flush. Her nerves sung with each shockwave as his mouth nipped and sucked at the column of her neck and his hand worked her sensitive nub. She was soon teetering on the edge of her bliss. With a few more sweeps of his finger and lurches of his hips, she fell into a sea of pleasure, dragging him with her.</p><p>They lay together, limp and sated. Dean’s arms cradled her as he curled his body around her. They fit together so perfectly that Hermione did not want to move. Did not want to speak. Did not want to break the bliss they had found with each other. They stayed like that, his hot breath tickling the hairs on the back of her neck, for a while. It was not until they heard shuffling in the pub below that they moved.</p><p>As Dean showered, Hermione started to think over what had transpired between them. She had not been with many people and did not know what was supposed to happen now. She had certainly never had to work with someone after being intimate with them. Ron and she worked in the Ministry together, that much was true, but that was a different situation altogether. And the handful of one night stands did not stay the night. When the bathroom door clicked she looked up to see Dean with a towel around his waist. Hermione felt her face heat with a blush that only deepened when he smirked at her.</p><p>“Cute,” he chuckled. “You’d think after what we did this morning… and last night… you wouldn’t be blushing.” She looked away when her face flamed in mortification.</p><p>Hermione coughed, “Breakfast?” she asked.</p><p>“Lead the way, little witch,” he said. </p><p>The moniker made her mind flash to the morning’s activities and a burn of a different kind flashed through her. They sat in a companionable quiet while eating their breakfast. Dean was observing their surroundings while Hermione went back over her notes on the information Luna had provided the day before. She kept glancing up at him, distracted by the thoughts that had started while she waited for him earlier.</p><p>“What’s up?” he asked when she had looked up for the fifth time.</p><p>“Last night and this morning…”</p><p>Dean frowned, “Didn’t peg you for that type of chick.”</p><p>Hermione scowled, “What’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p>“Did you enjoy it?” he asked bluntly.</p><p>“Wh- Well, yes,” Hermione spluttered, reddening. “I thought that was fairly obvious,” she hissed.</p><p>“Good,” Dean said with finality.</p><p>“But… That -”</p><p>“We have other things to think about right now. We’re adults, we had fun.” When he saw her face fall slightly, “We can talk about it, just not right now,” he said in a gentler tone.</p><p>Feeling reassured Hermione smiled, knowing that with the way her brain worked she would likely hold him to that promise. She returned to her notes to prepare for their meeting with Harry.</p><p>“What’s on the cards today?” He asked, taking a gulp from his mug of coffee.</p><p>“We’re meeting Harry in about an hour,” Hermione replied. “I wanted to go over what Luna gave me once more before then.”</p><p>“Harry’s you’re brother, right?”</p><p>“May as well be,” she shrugged.</p><p>Nodding, “Alright,” he said. “How are we getting to Scotland, anyway?”</p><p>“Oh, we won’t be going up there yet. Harry’s meeting us here to go over some things before we do the full ritual. I have a couple of options, though, so you won't have to side-along there.”</p><p>Dean’s relieved expression was part of the reason she was considering Portkey or Floo. She understood that Apparition could be disorientating at the best of times, side-along even more so. Hermione expected that, similar to her, he did not enjoy surrendering his control over how he was travelling. His objection to leaving his car in the States was an excellent example of that.</p><p>An hour later, Harry stepped out of the fireplace of the Leaky Cauldron. Dean, who had been helping Hermione with her research, looked up surprised at the dark haired man’s entrance.</p><p>“But… He…” he narrowed his eyes at Hermione. “Definitely no demons involved, right?”</p><p>Hermione laughed, “No, Dean, just magic.” She turned to Harry and placed her hands on his face, “Wait, you’re real? I’m not just seeing you on a mirror?”</p><p>The wizard scoffed and grabbed her wrists lightly before moving her hands away. “You’re one to talk,” Harry chuckled. “You’re the one who ran away to the other side of the world.” He hugged her, “Missed you, Hermione.”</p><p>Squeezing him, she took in the comfort he provided, allowing his scent of broom polish, coffee and herbs to settle her further. “Missed you too, Harry.” She reluctantly broke away and gestured toward the hunter who stood when Harry had approached, “This is Dean.”</p><p>Harry stretched a hand out for Dean to shake, keeping one arm securely around Hermione’s shoulders. The fair haired man took the proffered hand in a firm grip and looked directly into the wizard’s eyes. “Pleased to meet you, mate,” Harry said.</p><p>“Yeah,” Dean replied, not breaking eye contact. Neither man moved to take a seat and Harry had not released his grip on Hermione.</p><p>She scoffed and rolled her eyes, “Men,” Hermione muttered. “Shall we get started?” She extricated herself from Harry and sat at the table. Both men followed, Harry sitting beside her and Dean resuming his seat opposite. When neither man talked Hermione sighed at their antics. “Is everything set to do the ritual?” she asked Harry.</p><p>He coughed and looked away from his staring contest with Dean, “Yes, all we need is the ring. You said you had it?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Dean answered, patting the pocket of his jacket.</p><p>“Why do you have the resurrection ring anyway?” Harry asked.</p><p>“Hermione called it that before,” Dean frowned. “Death gave it to me last year,” he continued, sitting up a little straighter.</p><p>“Death gives his stuff to just anyone these days, huh?” Harry quipped.</p><p>“Listen, dude,” Dean started. “The last couple of years ain’t been no picnic -”</p><p>“Yeah, Hermione mentioned your little adventures. Sounds like it’s part of the reason we’re here.”</p><p>“Little adventures? Apocalypse just a Sunday here in Oz?”</p><p>Harry shrugged, “When we defeated our evil we did it properly, didn’t fuck it up so much that we left parts behind.”</p><p>“Language,” Hermione chastised automatically.</p><p>Dean, who had taken a swallow of coffee to calm himself, choked on the hot liquid at her reprimand.</p><p>"Hypocrite," he spluttered.</p><p>“You’ve shagged him?!” Harry exclaimed, turning to the witch beside him.</p><p>“Wha- Wait- How?”</p><p>“Drunk Ron and silencing charms aren’t friends. Ginny’s room at the Burrow was next to his, remember?”</p><p>Hermione wanted to sink into a hole and die of embarrassment. “Oh,” she said in a small voice. </p><p>Dean cleared his throat, shifting in his seat, “Back to this ritual.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Harry replied before turning to Dean, “but this conversation isn’t over,” he continued. Dean paled then flicked his eyes over to Hermione, who was beet red. “I’ve arranged to meet with Pr- Minerva. I’ll pick up the wand when we’ve finished tea.”</p><p>Hermione nodded, “Okay, we will bring the ring along, and presumably you’ll have the cloak,” she confirmed. “Now, I’m still working on the finer details, but I think we should do the ritual in the forest. Away from prying eyes, you know? Do you think that Hagrid will be willing to talk to the centaurs about it for us? I also need to double-check exactly what the elements we need for summoning Death himself. This isn’t like last time you did this.” Hermione looked up into her friend’s emerald green eyes as images of the final battle flashed through her mind. Being the Master of Death came at a price. The sight of him cradled in Hagrid’s arms that day was still a part of her nightmares.</p><p>“Yeah, I’ll send a letter to Hagrid. I know it’s not the same as last time, Hermione,” he said softly, holding her gaze; the memories flitting before their eyes syncing up as they attempted to file the war back in its messy, jagged box. Harry took his glasses off his face and cleaned them with a corner of his sleeve. Hermione reached over and took them from him, casting a silent charm to wipe away the grease marks he had just created with his sleeve. He took them gratefully before replacing them on his nose. “Besides,” Harry said with a smirk, “I think my wife would kill me if I died.” Hermione rolled her eyes but silently agreed. “Speaking of my wife,” he continued, “she was complaining about not seeing you. Come for dinner tonight. Both of you,” he added, looking back at Dean for a moment.</p><p>Hermione nodded, “Okay,” she said softly. “Sounds nice.”</p><hr/><p>“We… fuck… should… oh shit… get ready,” Hermione panted. After a day of research, she had moved to the bathroom to freshen up for dinner at the Potters. As though he had been waiting for this all day Dean followed her two minutes later, already half naked. Which was why she was pinned to the shower wall, shampoo still in her hair, and filled with his cock.</p><p>“Make ‘em wait,” he growled, hips snapping forward. Dean adjusted his grip on her arse as her legs wrapped tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper. “I’ve wanted to do this to you all day.”</p><p>Hermione could not help but agree that she was happy to be late with the sinful things he was doing to her body. The way he filled her so completely was addictive and she wished that they could spend the night locked in their room together. But they had things to do. People to see. She loved it when he did that with his tongue.</p><p>“Shit,” she gasped. </p><p>He chuckled, nibbling and sucking his way over her collarbone, “Stay with me, little witch. Your mind has been working overtime since breakfast.”</p><p>Hermione clasped his shoulders tighter, trying to stay balanced. She vaguely noticed trickles of blood mingling in with the stream of water at their feet from where she had broken skin. Every time he sunk himself inside her, she became more lost in sensation. The way his large hands grasped her arse so hard Hermione was sure she would have fingerprints left behind. The way their water slicked skin created delicious friction. The way the bathroom tiles bit delightfully into her back. She slipped one hand up the back of his neck, tugging at his hair as he laved kisses across her flesh. The angle that he was pounding into her made an exquisite ecstasy course through her. It did not take her long to give in to the waves of satisfaction that washed over her. Dean soon followed, spilling his seed within her. He took a moment to regain his breath before lowering her to the ground on shaky legs. He kissed her soundly before taking a step back. The smirk on his lips made her blush.</p><p>Dean chuckled but didn’t say a word, simply rinsing himself clean before stepping out of the shower, allowing her to finish. While Hermione washed her hair, she reflected on the last few days. The research she had done after the meeting with Luna the day before had provided a breakthrough. From what she had found, it seemed that there may be a way to fully heal Sam’s soul before it was replaced in his body. The spellwork would be difficult and intricate, and there would be complications as the man was a muggle, but it could be done. She was cautiously optimistic about Dean’s reaction.</p><p>Dean. </p><p>The shift in dynamic between them was both exhilarating and unnerving. From the moment Bobby had explained what he and Sam had done over the last few years, Hermione had felt a draw to them. That pull only grew when she met them. And the moment she recognised how fiercely Dean protected his brother, she knew she was already in the deep end. She had never felt the way she did when she was with him. Everything about him electrified her. Her magic sung in her veins with him. Every touch, every word, every argument was invigorating. Hermione did not know how she could feel like this about someone she barely knew. It terrified her that he was holding something of her in the palm of his hand and did not even realise it.</p><hr/><p>Dean paced the small bedroom waiting for Hermione to finish whatever it was chicks did in the shower. He tried to banish the image of her pinned to the wall, moaning and writhing under his touch so that he did not demand a repeat performance. Just as he was about to bang on the door and ask what was taking so long, he heard the door click. The vision in front of him made his heart stutter. Her long dark curls were swept to the side, cascading over her shoulder. Hermione’s makeup was minimal, dark lashes framing her dark eyes and a flush to her cheeks. She was dressed in a simple black top with a deep v and short black denim skirt that hugged her shapely ass and thighs.</p><p>Her brows furrowed, “What’s wrong?” she reached for her hair and smoothed her hands over it, “Is there something in my hair or something?”</p><p>He gulped, “Nothing’s wrong. Never seen you in a skirt before.” Dean shook his head to snap himself out of his thoughts. “You done?”</p><p>Hermione nodded, grabbed a black leather jacket and some biker boots before heading to the door.</p><p>Dean followed her, restraining himself from dragging her back down the corridor to bend her over their bed and fuck her in that little skirt. He was shaken from his thoughts when they came to an abrupt stop in front of the fireplace.</p><p>“Okay, step into the grate,” Hermione said in her no-nonsense tone. When he looked down at her in confusion she gestured to the fireplace. “Get in. You hate side-along and the wards around Grimmauld are more secure than Fort Knox. This is the only way to get there.” At her words, Dean remembered how her friend had arrived to meet them earlier in the day. Following her instructions, he stepped into the fireplace and looked around himself. “This is Floo Powder,” she said before grabbing his hand and placing some black glittering powder in his palm. “When I say, throw it at your feet and say <em> very clearly </em> Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Oh and keep your arms tucked in. Do you understand?”</p><p>“I’m not an idiot,” he snapped.</p><p>“Okay, now. Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.”</p><p>Dean threw the shimmering dust at his feet and repeated her words. What followed was the trippiest experience of his life. With a whoosh, he felt like he was spinning through the air. Flashes of front rooms and glimpses of other people’s lives dashed in front of him. Then all of a sudden, he stopped. His knees collapsing beneath him as he fell to the ground. Getting to his feet, Dean glanced around where he had landed. He was in a large kitchen that was bustling with activity. Pots were flying, moving from one end to the other landing with a crash in the large basin sink. A whisk was beating egg whites in a bowl while sugar was being carefully added. By the stove, where most of the activity seemed to be congregated, was a tall, red haired woman. She had a small red haired girl balanced on her hip while a slightly older child, a boy, sat by her feet playing with a firetruck on the floor. She was watching him curiously.</p><p>“Who are you?” she demanded. Dean opened his mouth to reply when a whirl came from behind him. “Hermione?” the redhead asked. “What are you doing here? Wait, is this one yours?” she asked, gesturing to Dean.</p><p>“Hello, Ginny,” Hermione said from behind him. “Did Harry not tell you he’d invited us over tonight? Oh, good you got here,” she said turning to Dean.</p><p>“Why wouldn’t I be here?”</p><p>“Well, I didn’t know if Muggles could use the Floo or not,” she shrugged.</p><p>“So I was your test dummy?”</p><p>“Pretty much.”</p><p>“HARRY JAMES POTTER!” Ginny interrupted. “GET YOUR BL-” she glanced at the small children surrounding her, “BLOOMING PANTS HERE RIGHT THIS SECOND!”</p><p>Harry, the man Dean had been so intimidated by earlier in the day, ran into the kitchen as though his ass was on fire. “What is it? Did James blow the potatoes up again?” Dean smirked. The dark haired wizard spotted the two of them by the fireplace he smiled. “Hi, Hermione so glad-”</p><p>“Harry, you fu-dging idiot!” Ginny interrupted.</p><p>Harry just looked at his wife perplexed, “I thought you wanted to see Hermione, so I invited her tonight because…” the man trailed off then looked back at his best friend. “Oops.”</p><p>“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked just as the fireplace lit up a bright green and the blonde woman from the day before stepping out.</p><p>“Oh, hello Hermione, Dean,” Luna said. “I didn’t know you would be here tonight.”</p><p>“Luna?” Hermione said, confused. Then realisation dawned on her face. She turned to her best friend with hands on her hips, “Harry James Potter,” she said in a tone that Dean recognised as her <em> what-the-fuck </em> voice. Hermione had used it in his direction countless times over the last couple of weeks. “You <em> idiot </em>,” she hissed.</p><p>Dean did not know what trouble the dark haired man had caused but he expected it to be a colossal fuck up. Especially if the expressions on Hermione and Ginny’s faces were anything to go by. He looked between each person, bewildered, before the fireplace lit up again. A tall red haired man stepped out of the grate, dusting off his clothes, “Luna, did you pick up-” the man stopped mid-sentence when he saw Hermione. The look on his face made Dean’s hackles rise slightly. “Hermione? I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight.”</p><p>“Ron, it’s nice to see you again,” she said with a strained smile. Dean’s head was spinning from the dynamics in the room. He looked around hoping to find some kind of explanation when he almost jumped out of his skin. Luna had moved closer to him, large blue-grey eyes looking at a spot above his head.</p><p>“Your Nargles have gone,” she observed before turning to Hermione. “Oh look, so have hers.”</p><p>The red haired man instantly flushed an unattractive shade of red, “You <em> shagged </em> him?!” he yelled at Hermione.</p><p>“Actually,” Harry interjected, “we already established that.”</p><p>“We did?” Ginny asked with a raised eyebrow.</p><p>“Who even <em> is </em> he?!” Ron exclaimed.</p><p>“Oh, this is Dean, the man I was telling you about yesterday, Ron,” Luna said dreamily. “The one with Wrackspurts the same colour as Hermione’s.”</p><p>Dean waved awkwardly. “Hi there.”</p><p>“Oh, American,” Ginny said with approval. “I like this one better than your ex,” she said to Hermione. “Well done.”</p><p>“I was her ex!” Ron bellowed and Dean suddenly understood the awkwardness. “I’m your brother.”</p><p>The woman shrugged, “And?”</p><p>“I need a drink,” Dean said eventually.</p><p>“Excellent idea!” Hermione cried, a little too enthusiastically for it to be believable. “Come on, Dean, let’s go to the parlour,” she said before dragging him from the kitchen. He stumbled after her as she pulled him up a flight of stairs and through a door. Once they were through, she slammed it behind her and sagged against it. She sighed before looking up at him. “I’m so sorry,” she groaned. “If I had known that Ron would be here I would never have agreed to this.”</p><p>Dean leered, “We can still get out of here. I’ve got a few ideas of what we could be doing instead.” </p><p>He leaned his arm above her head on the door and slanted forward to capture her lips. She melted into his touch, moulding into his body. His hand slipped to the curve of her spine, drawing her closer. Fuck, Dean could not get enough of this woman. He slid his hand over her firm, rounded ass. His lips traversed the slant of her neck and over her exposed collarbone. His hand continued its path down her thigh, hitching it up so he could move between her legs and press her more firmly into the door. A bolt of electricity ran through him when he brushed his jean-clad hardness against her centre through her panties. Her warm breath brushed the shell of his ear as a gasp fell from her lips. He bent the arm above her head so that it covered her mouth so that they would not be heard. “This,” he said before driving his hips forward to rub himself against her, “has not left since I saw you in that little skirt.” She let out a muffled sob against his hand. His free hand rounded her strong thigh, burning a path toward her waiting core.</p><p>“Aunt Hermione?” a small voice said through the door, stopping him in his tracks. Her big brown eyes looked up at him in surprise and fear. He dropped his forehead to hers and slowly released his hand from her mouth before kissing her longingly. She lowered her leg from around his hip slowly, as he pulled his hand from beneath her skirt. With one last look at her, he grabbed the door handle beside her and tugged.</p><p>He plastered a smile on his face as Hermione straightened herself before peering around the door. “Albus!” she said warmly. The kid was about five and the spitting image of his Dad. He was peering up at the curly haired woman with wide emerald green eyes through a mop of messy black hair. The love and adoration on the boy’s face were almost cute enough to make up for the fact that he had interrupted his make-out session. Almost.</p><p>“Aunt Hermione!” the boy squeaked, before flinging himself at her legs. The woman laughed and bent to wrap her arms around the boy’s small shoulders.</p><p>“Hey, lovely,” she cooed.</p><p>“I missed you,” the kid said in what he thought was a whisper.</p><p>“I missed you, too,” she said. </p><p>It hit Dean like a punch to the gut. This <em> was </em> Hermione’s family. She had people here, in a completely different country. He suddenly had an itch in his feet that made him want to get out of this house. He did not belong here. And whatever the thing with her was could not last. Hermione had a place there. He began to panic, wondering how best to make his excuses and leave. Dean started to move when she looked back at him with the most dazzling smile. And he knew he was screwed.</p><p>“This is Dean,” she whispered to the small boy in her arms, though her dark brown eyes would not leave him. There was something in them. A question, a pleading. “He’s become a very special friend of mine,” she blushed prettily when he raised his eyebrow. “And he makes me quite happy,” her blush deepening before she took a deep breath and turned to the child. “He also loves cars. Why don’t you show him yours?”</p><p>Albus broke away from Hermione and nodded enthusiastically. As quickly as his tiny legs could carry him, the small boy dashed away.</p><p>“Cute kid,” Dean said.</p><p>Hermione smiled in the direction that he had disappeared in, “Yeah,” she said. Spinning to face him, happiness radiating off her, “Dean…” she started.</p><p>He did not want to have the conversation that she was trying to bring up. Especially not in her brother’s house. Instead, he smiled back and reached for her hand. “Later?”</p><p>“Okay,” Hermione beamed.</p><p>Within moments, Albus raced back, an armful of matchbox cars. The excitement on his face was infectious.</p><p>Dean crouched down, “What you got there, kid?” The boy walked past him into the parlour.</p><p>“These are my cars. I like cars a lot,” the boy said very seriously.</p><p>“Me too, bud,” Dean replied. “Which cars have you got?”</p><p>As if it were the question he had been waiting for, the dark haired boy opened his arms and emptied his collection onto the floor.</p><p>“Well this one,” he pointed at a red car, serious expression still in place, “is a red car. And this one,” he said pointing at a blue car, “is my blue car. And this one,” he said pointing at a black car, “is a Mustang. It’s my favourite.”</p><p>Dean chuckled, “That so?”</p><p>“Yes, and this one,” he said picking up a green car, “is-”</p><p>“Albus,” came Ginny’s voice from the doorway. “It’s time for bed. Come on, don’t bore poor Dean with your collection.”</p><p>The boy’s face fell. “Don’t worry, kid, I like cars too but you gotta listen to your Mama. Go to bed,” he looked up at Hermione, who had been watching the two of them interacting with a smile, “and maybe you can show me your cars another time,” he said looking directly in her eyes. Hoping that she understood.</p><p>“Yes, Al,” Hermione said, not breaking her gaze with him. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it.”</p><p>Yeah, he was screwed.</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Don't Fear the Reaper</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <b>25/02/2021: I found out today that a whole scene was missing from the upload of this fic which will explain some details regarding the development of Dean and Hermione’s relationship. I’m not sure how thi happened, but please forgive me. It happens just before the forest scene.</b>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><b>Potential TW - consensual somnophilia in opening scene. Go to triple astrik to skip. Summary in end notes</b> </p><p>So this is it. The final chapter. I am overwhelmed and humbled by the response and love this little fic has got so far. Thankyouthankyouthankyou.</p><p>As always special thanks to a select few. First mimifreed, who was the most incredible alpha anyone could ask for. She put up with my panic when I wasn't feeling confident (which was quite often). I think the <i>You about?</i> messages are now our equivalent of <i>You up?</i> texts from a sleezy Tinder date. She was my sounding board for Deanisms and was so helpful in creating the lore of this fic. If you haven't already I highly recommend you check out her Remione fic <i>The Dementor's Curse</i> for her own take on what Dementors are. A massive thank you for Charlie4696 for beta'ing this fic while real life was being a bitch at him. Finally, I'd like to thank TakingFlight48, without whom the smut scenes would not be as spicy as they are and for putting up with my nagging every day for two weeks. You are all incredible shiny people.</p><p>If you want to get in Dean's head in this chapter listen to <i>Heartfelt Lies</i> by Ron Pope. Listen to <i>Tennessee Whiskey</i> by Chris Stapleton and <i>Texas Wildflower Honey</i> by Ron Poper for the final smut scene.</p><p>This chapter does feature direct and modified quotes from Season 6 episode 10 and 11 of Supernatural.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was the most vivid dream Hermione had to date. Hot, wet kisses lit a fire over her collar bone and down her torso. She could feel the tickle of short hair against the skin of her breasts as her fantasy lover’s lips suckled her taut nipple. The caress of broad, rough hands sliding over her sinewy body, skating over her toned stomach made her body arch. She moaned as the flash of lust darkened forest green eyes blazed behind her lids. Her dream lover traced his hand over the curve of her hip toward her centre while his mouth switched its attention to the other breast. Her body bowed as the illusionary man’s finger swept deftly between her slick folds. The familiar ache of emptiness that came with her usual erotic fancies was not there. </p><p>As two rigid fingers slipped into her, thumb glancing over her sensitive clit she longed for the sensation to be a reality. The brush of stubble against her flesh as her phantom lover’s lips swept from her firm mounds was so evocative that she felt her body shift in her sleep, seeking out the green eyed man’s tantalising lips. Her skin tightened as if her mirage was more than just that; as if its breath were fanning over her skin, as though there were a mouth on her body. The almost tangible lips traced an imagined path over her body, joining where his fingers were pumping fiercely in and out of her dripping core. Her hips rocked as the deceptively authentic experience of a hot warm tongue swiped at her clit. She sighed, finally stirring as her talented conjuring lapped at her clit, fingers curling inside her, driving into her at a rapid pace. Hermione's fingers traced the lips path south, wishing the weight of her hand matched his own as she prepared herself to relieve the craving she had.</p><p>Hermione’s eyes shot open when her hand brushed, not against her sex but instead a soft, familiar crown of hair. Her head snapped down in time to see Dean’s head burrowed between her thighs. Before she had time to react, her body convulsed with orgasm. Dean eagerly drank her release as her fingers curled in the short strands of his hair. Once he had swallowed all of her nectar, he looked up at her. Hermione’s breath caught as the forest green eyes that had haunted her dreams for months locked on hers. Dean grinned at her lasciviously as he crawled over her to press his lips to hers. She groaned as she explored his mouth, tasting herself on his tongue. Without breaking their kiss, he reached between them and positioned his cock at her waiting entrance. With one smooth propulsion of his hips he was sheathed in her, swallowing her gasp as he filled her. This was better than anything her imagination could concoct. It was not long before he was finding his own release, her name tumbling from his lips like a prayer.</p><p>After they had managed to catch their breaths, Dean collapsed beside her and pulled Hermione into his chest. His body folded snugly to her back and the steady warmth of his breath on her neck had her silently confirming that she could get used to waking up in these arms. As they lay there, his heartbeat evening to a steady pace against her back, she contemplated what a future like that would entail, if he would even want it. Curling her hands around the wrists crossed over her waist, Hermione reluctantly attempted to gently untangle herself from the American’s grasp. Hermione had almost wriggled free when his arms tightened and pulled her back to him. Dean’s sigh of contentment fanned over her when she was tucked into him once again. She momentarily melted into his embrace, unwilling to extricate herself from his comforting hold. Unbidden, her mind whirred with the long list of tasks for the day.</p><p>“I can hear that brain of yours, little witch,” he croaked into her ear. The sated gruffness of his voice sent shivers down her spine. “Five more minutes.”</p><p>Hermione gave it two before she slipped out of bed, the cool September air hitting her skin. Making her way to the bathroom for her morning ablutions, she felt a satisfying stiffness in her muscles. Her mind moved back to the night before. After a surprisingly enjoyable meal at the Potters, Dean had dashed her back to the Leaky Cauldron, picking up where they had been interrupted by Albus earlier that evening. He had taken her against the door, clothes still on. He had then proceeded to shag her in every position imaginable, and a few that she had never thought her body capable of. He would switch from rough and hard to teasing and slow. She could feel heat pool in her stomach at the thought of it.</p><p>When she left the bathroom it was to find Dean sitting up in bed. His smooth, bare chest exposed as she walked over to sit beside him. Hermione traced her finger over the tattoo that was placed over his heart. She had noticed the mark on his skin several times over the last few days but had not thought to examine it properly. She could feel his keen forest green eyes watching her as she trailed her finger lightly over the lines. </p><p>“Anti-possession,” he told her softly. She nodded. “You should probably get one.”</p><p>Hermione shook her head, “No need. My magic provides a natural defence,” she said, still unwilling to lift her head to meet his eyes. </p><p>She was fascinated by the stark contrast in their hands alone as Dean wrapped his larger one around her own. Hers were smooth and pale, delicate and unblemished save a small scar from when she had put a screwdriver through one of her fingers as a child. His were dark from exposure to the sun, rugged and calloused. Littered with scars and motor oil stains on his nails. He lifted her hand to his mouth and placed a gentle kiss to her palm.</p><p>Hermione looked at him, then, and what she saw reflected there made her breath catch. It was the most vulnerable she had seen him. The most uncertain. She leaned forward to capture his lips. The kiss was slow. Nothing like any of the kisses they had shared over the last forty-eight hours. It was not the kind to lead to anything more, but a way for two people to have a moment of communication that transcended reality. Hesitantly, she withdrew and dropped her forehead to his, keeping her eyes locked on his. After a few beats, he shuffled to leave the bed, clasping her hand until the last possible moment.</p><p>Hermione remained sitting on the bed, staring at the space he had vacated. She was not snapped out of her stupor until she heard him cough from the bathroom door. Her head whipped around to see him leaning in the door frame, watching her with a small smile.</p><p>“What’s the plan today?” Dean asked.</p><p>Hermione turned to better face him, “Oh yes. I was going to talk to you about that,” she replied, her no-nonsense tone back. “I found a way for us to heal Sam’s soul,” at his broad grin she put her hand out. “It’s complicated magic, and it is technically only a theory. And there’s no guarantee that he will be completely cured but it’s the closest I could find.”</p><p>“But there is a chance. My brother could be my brother again?”</p><p>“Yes,” she said.</p><p>“Alright,” he said without hesitation. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”</p><p>“Dean, it’s really experimental magic, let me tell you-”</p><p>“No,” he growled, all of his excitement gone. “Hermione, this is Sammy. My little brother. Whatever he needs.”</p><p>“Okay,” she agreed. Hermione was not sure where to begin. “So… Part of the reason that the Department of Mysteries, where Luna works, is looking into soul magic is because… There was an evil wizard -”</p><p>“In my book, that’s basically all of them, Hermione,” Dean cut her off, impatiently. “Just spit it out.”</p><p>“I’m trying!” she said frustratedly. “And this wizard, he wasn’t like anything you have faced.”</p><p>“I’ve met Lucifer.”</p><p>“Yes, but he is a supernatural being,” Hermione snapped back. “This man was just that. A man. A human being. And he did some of the <em>vilest </em>magic that has ever existed,” she shuddered thinking about the creation of Horcruxes.</p><p>“Okay,” Dean said, a little calmer. “What does that have to do with Sam.”</p><p>“Well… He split his soul and created containers, called Horcruxes, for the fragments.” Dean paled. </p><p>“We won’t be doing that with Sam’s soul,” Hermione assured. “What we will be doing is almost the opposite. It’s called a Lutcrux. It will help prepare Sam’s soul to go back into his body.” When Dean did not seem upset she continued. “But I will need your help in casting the magic. Soul magic is connected to love magic. At least in this ritual. Is there an object or possession that you own that means something important to you? That represents your relationship with your brother?”</p><p>Dean stared at her for a long moment before reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulling something out. Hermione, aware how private this man was, got up from the bed, carefully walking over to him. In his palm, he held a brass amulet on a leather string. The amulet was of a horned humanoid that she suspected was Cernunnos. “I nearly got rid of it,” he said so quietly that she could only just make his words. Tenderly, she took it from his palm.</p><p>“Thank you,” she said. “It’s perfect.”</p><p>“What else?” he asked, voice strained.</p><p>“Because of the nature of the magic, plus the fact that you’re not magical yourself and this is actually a Lutcrux for Sam, not you… Well, this is going to be very complex. You are going to need to channel through me for it to work. I’ve asked Luna to help; we’ll meet her in a couple of days to perform the ritual.”</p><p>“Sure. Sounds awesome,” Dean said. </p><p>She looked up at him, worry on her face. “Dean,” she started, “I… There’s no guarantee here, you have to know that. There are so many things that could go wrong. You… I am going to put everything into this but…”</p><p>“Believe me, little witch,” he said, not meeting her eyes, “I know.”</p>
<hr/><p>“I hate doing that,” Dean groaned. Hermione lit her wand in the early morning darkness to get her bearings. She cast a quick warming charm on the two of them to stave off the brisk air, smiling when the shoulders in his back relaxed some, doubled over as he was, hands gripping his knees to reorientate himself. As she searched their surroundings, she realised they had landed in a small forest with a well-worn path. Hermione followed the trail and spotted Stonehenge ahead of her. Luna had suggested the place as it was a convergence of so many powerful, natural energies. She was reluctant to head to the stones at the autumn equinox, given the popularity of the site around that time. But Luna had insisted that they needed to draw as much as humanly and magically possible to perform the ritual.</p><p>“Wow,” Dean said, once he had caught up to her. “That’s a lot of people.”</p><p>She nodded, “Yes, well even muggles can feel the magic of certain places.” And there was magic there, Hermione could not deny it. Her body hummed with it. She had only felt energy that uninhibited a handful of times before. Hogwarts, of course, thrummed with it but she had also felt it on the moors of North Yorkshire and at the coast of Cornwall. The sense she had at such wild places was how she was able to explain magic to her parents when McGonagall had visited all those years ago. “Come on,” she said, leading the way. It was a few moments before they managed to catch up with Luna, who was waiting for them at the entrance of the site. Her dirty blonde hair loose around her shoulders, a set of elaborate ceremonial robes, and bare feet were not out of place in the crowd that was gathering.</p><p>“Hello,” she greeted, before turning and walking toward the crowd gathered at the centre of the stones. Dean shot Hermione a raised eyebrow before following the woman. Hermione shook her head to herself before dashing up to her friend.</p><p>“Is this not breaking the Statute of Secrecy,” Hermione hissed to the younger witch. “This is powerful magic, and there are more than seven hundred witnesses!”</p><p>Luna continued to weave her way through the throng, “I let Kingsley know,” she said dreamily. “Plus, these Muggles won’t tell. They understand. Ah,” Luna said, pausing, “here is perfect.” </p><p>They stood almost directly in the centre of the stone circle, surprisingly not taken by one of the groups of Muggles. Hermione frowned. She knew how the Ministry worked. Even if the Minister had signed off on what they were doing, she was not convinced that some upstart elitist who still held power in the Wizengamot would not try something. Silently, she flicked her wand and cast a Muggle repelling charm, as well as a few silencing and protection charms for good measure. </p><p>Hermione began to take the items that they needed for the ritual from her beaded bag. It was unlike anything she had ever done before, more raw as she withdrew a cauldron and began setting it up.</p><p>“When are we doing this thing?” Dean asked from above her. He was glancing around the field at all the people dressed in mock ceremonial garb.</p><p>“Sunrise,” Hermione replied absently. “The Muggles tend to do a blessing at the same time; I have put some repelling spells up around us, so I’m hoping that if they see anything they will just think it is part of the ceremony.”  She did not break her concentration from what she was doing while she was talking and laid out the ingredients in a neat line on a white cloth. </p><p>Dean, sensing her nerves crouched down beside her. “Explain what all this is for, again?”</p><p>“The ritual is an old one, which is why we chose this place and this day,” she said, surveying the ancient site again. She inhaled deeply, trying to calm her nerves and inhaled the scent of autumn in the English countryside. Crisp and fresh with the smell of a nearby pig farm. She felt untamed magic sizzle beneath her fingertips. “Stonehenge is on a crossroad of ley lines, which is potent earth magic. It’s also the equinox, which means that fire and water are equal today with the sun and moon. Plus, we’re outside.” As she was explaining things to him, she felt her tension start to ease. “The athame,” she said pointing at the ceremonial knife, “represents air and we will use it for letting your blood on the amulet. The blood will help form the intention behind the ritual. The difficulty is that this Lutcrux is for Sam, but because he <em> literally </em> can’t feel emotion we need to use your bond as brothers to try and strengthen it.”</p><p>“What about all those bits,” Dean gestured at the cloth where more ingredients were on display. “You dragged us all over the fuckin’ country to find ‘em.”</p><p>“Language,” Hermione said, automatically, blushing when a smirk crossed his face, knowing just how hypocritical the scolding was. Turning back to the items, she began to explain. “They’re all ingredients from elemental creatures. They’re also all creatures with healing abilities or represent light magic,” she explained. She picked up a vial of red liquid, “Blood of a fire dwelling salamander represents fire and is used in potions for regeneration. The phoenix is a fire elemental but using its tears will also represent water in this,” she was pointing to another vial with a clear liquid in as she spoke. “The unicorn hair is for Earth and it will help with conducting pure magic. The thunderbird is also an Earth elemental. They’re protectors, so using a feather will be the air element, also sealing Sam’s soul into the amulet securely.”</p><p>Explaining the ritual to Dean helped her go through her mental checklist. She felt Luna stand beside her as she nodded to herself that everything was in order. “Okay,” she mumbled, looking to the East just in time to see the sun beginning to rise. “It’s time,” she said a little shakily. There was so much that could go so wrong. Dean was watching her with keen eyes. She reached out and took his hand, soothed by the warmth of his touch. He glanced down at their clasped hands before meeting her eyes. “Trust me?” Hermione asked.</p><p>“Yeah,” Dean said immediately, squeezing her hand briefly.</p><p>She took a deep breath, “I need you to be really focussed. Concentrate on memories of Sam. The happiest times for both of you, okay? Your most treasured moments.” Dean nodded. “Luna will be doing the ritual while I create a temporary bond between us. It will make it easier for you to channel your intention through me. Focus on the love, the bond. No matter what happens,  don’t stop thinking about Sam and don’t let go of my hand.” When he nodded again, she caught the other witch’s eye. Luna moved forward to stand in front of the cauldron.</p><p>Delicately, she placed the amulet in the cauldron, “Adsagsona, please accept this offering on the sacred morn of Mabon, prepared with love, freely bestowed. I call upon the elements to bless this offering.” Luna’s serene voice helped to lull Hermione into a sense of peace as she concentrated on her own magic as it pulsed through her, working to gather it tightly within herself. </p><p>Luna picked up the ceremonial athame that was placed neatly in front of her. Taking Dean’s free hand, she held it over the cauldron and she made a practised slice on his index finger. “Blood of intention offers the love of a brother.” She let the wound drip on top of the amulet for a moment before silently healing the cut. “Blood of a salamander, born in fire. Tears of a phoenix, water to heal all wounds. Feather of a thunderbird, guardian of the skies. Hair of the unicorn, whose earthly magic is purest of our realm. I give to you, on the day that fire and water, sun and moon, share in equal measure, the love of a brother. For a soul pure to heal. Please, Adsagsona, goddess of magic and the underworld guide the soul of Sam Winchester with light and love.” With her final words, the cauldron glowed a deep midnight blue. Luna stepped away from the cauldron, enabling Hermione to replace her. She turned to Dean again, “Ready?”</p><p>“Let’s do this,” he said.</p><p>“Happy memories,” she muttered to him. “<em> Infudite Patronum </em>.” </p><p>The magic flowing through her was the wildest she had ever felt. Her body felt electric and the emotions that were radiating from Dean were palpable. Images flashed through her mind's eye of a small dark-haired boy in a motel handing her an amulet, of him setting off fireworks, of an older Sam climbing into the Impala.  The memories were vivid and strong and Hermione was overwhelmed by the affection Dean had for his brother. She pointed her wand directly at the cauldron. What happened next was the most incredible sight she had ever seen. She knew intellectually, in channelling Dean’s memories and, for lack of a better word magic, the spell would not yield the same response as her Patronus. Most of what she had read about being a conduit of another person in ritual had prepared her for less magical potency. She had expected a few wisps of silver light at best. What she was not anticipating, however, was a great Red-tailed Hawk to fly from the tip of her wand. The silvery beast flapped its wings elegantly before hovering in place. </p><p>She turned to look at Dean, who was staring wide-eyed at the beautiful creature. “Dean,” Hermione whispered. “I… I think it’s waiting for you.” His head snapped to her before he peered at the ethereal being again.</p><p>He coughed, “Go… Go help Sammy.” The bird cocked its head to look at Dean, before diving into the cauldron. The midnight blue light around the cauldron flashed to a pure white before disappearing. The two of them stared in silence at the space where the ethereal being had vanished from. A soft breeze passed over them and a wet, chill bit at Hermione’s cheeks. She lifted her hand to feel tears there. She wiped them away impatiently before peering at Dean. The shock and awe on his face made her heart swell and break all at once.</p><p>“Interesting,” Luna hummed next to her. Hermione was shaken out of her stupor and looked at the petite witch with curiosity.</p><p>“What is?” she asked.</p><p>“Have you ever heard the legend of Ceridwen and Gwion?”</p><p>Hermione thought for a moment, then her breath caught in realisation. “Ceridwen’s shapeshifting forms.” She shot a glance at Dean who was looking at the women in confusion.</p><p>“Yes,” Luna replied. “An otter and a hawk.”</p><p>“What are you talking about?” Dean asked.</p><p>“There is legend of a Welsh sorceress, Ceridwen who, when pursuing a young boy who had stolen from her, changed herself into first a hound, then an otter, then a hawk.”</p><p>“I don’t understand,” he said in confusion.</p><p>“There’s a theory in magic that two people who are linked intimately, by the soul itself, have complementary Patroni.”</p><p>Luna piped up, “My Patronus is hare and Ron’s is a Jack Russell. Jack Russells were bred to chase hares and rabbits.”</p><p>“I… What does that have to do with what just happened?”</p><p>Hermione took a deep breath, “<em> Expecto Patronum </em>.”  She kept her gaze trained on the familiar shape of the silvery otter. She was not sure she wanted to see what this new development would mean to him. Luna stood beside them with a knowing smile on her lips.</p><p>“I told you your Wrackspurts were the same colour.”</p><p>Hermione flicked her wand to gather the remnants of the ritual, being careful to hand Dean the amulet. It was not until they were walking back to the spot they had apparated to that Hermione realised that he had not released her hand the entire time.</p>
<hr/><p>Two days later, Hermione dusted herself off stepping out of the hearth of the Three Broomsticks. Dean was waiting to the side of the fireplace, forest green eyes scanning the patrons for a familiar head of messy black hair. As she sidled up to him, he lifted his chin in acknowledgement of someone across the crowded room. Following his line of sight, she saw Harry weaving his way through the tables to greet them.</p><p>“Hi,” he said. He raised an eyebrow slightly at how closely they were standing to each other but, atypically, decided not to comment. “Ready to face Death?”</p><p>They both nodded and he led them from the cosy pub into the cool September air. They walked the familiar path from Hogsmede Village to the school. Hermione could not help but smile to herself at the fond memories that flashed across her mind as they walked. While their school days were not, in any sense of the word, <em> normal </em>she would not change them. </p><p>Hermione glanced over at Harry to see that he had a small smile on his face and she found herself wondering if he was lost in his own reminiscing. “How was Minerva?” she asked.</p><p>“Same as ever,” he grinned, affectionately. “Thinking about retiring, but she’s been saying that for years now. Although, I wouldn’t be surprised if she actually does before James starts school.”</p><p>Hermione laughed, thinking about the russet haired seven-year-old. The boy was living up to both his namesakes’ reputations. “I’m not sure I’d blame her,” she commented, “teaching three generations of troublemaking Potters is more than anyone should be expected to do. Especially when the latest generation has Prewett blood.”</p><p>Harry chuckled, “Yeah, you’re right.” </p><p>“The… The wand?” she asked in a small voice.</p><p>His smile became strained at her question, “Still feel weird about robbing a grave, but I have it.” He looked back at her, “How did it go with Luna?”</p><p>He did not miss the beat of silence that passed before Hermione answered, “Well… I think. We won’t know for sure until later.”</p><p>“Yeah, after we’ve negotiated with Death,” Dean said. “Have you ever done that, by the way? Ain’t no walk in the park.”</p><p>“Maybe for you,” Harry said, a look of arrogance gracing his features. “But he’ll listen to me.”</p><p>“Oh yeah, what makes you so special?”</p><p>“I’m his master.”</p><p>“Didn’t see a leash ‘round his neck last time I checked.”</p><p>Harry laughed, “Well, you’ll have to just wait and see, won’t you?”</p><p>“Will you stop your wand measuring?” Hermione said, exasperated. “I would like to get to the Forbidden Forest before midnight.” </p><p>With that, she marched ahead of them up the path to Hagrid’s hut. Harry had assured her that the half-giant had negotiated with the centaurs for them. He had also guaranteed that he had asserted that this was not a social visit. He guiltily admitted that he knew their friend would not ask too many questions if he told him it was a top-secret mission. Hermione had to confess that while she did not appreciate that Harry had lied, she did not fancy an awkward tea party at Hagrid’s hut. Introducing Dean to the Potters had been disaster enough, she did not want to have to explain that the eight-foot man was not a threat unless you decided to try his rock cakes.</p><p>Ten minutes later, they stopped at a clearing. Hermione glanced over at Harry to be sure that they were in the right place, but the pained look on his face told her all she needed to know. They had agreed that returning to the place where he had originally used the Deathly Hallows was the most appropriate. Magic left a mark. And the magic that was used in the site they were standing in was some of the oldest and most potent magic to have ever existed. Emotions bubbled up, unbidden. She did not want to think about what would happen if they were wrong. Both the men she stood beside had denied Death his due. And Death was many things, but she understood that there was a natural order to things. Neither Dean nor Harry’s existence was natural. Shaking herself out of her thoughts, she moved over to stand beside the man who she considered her brother. Her best friend. She placed her hand on his shoulder gently. He jerked at her touch.</p><p>“You… You don’t have to do this, you know?” she said. </p><p>Emerald green eyes met chocolate brown. “I think I do,” he replied. She pulled him into a tight hug, suddenly realising how terrified she truly was. “Let him in, Hermione. Be happy.”</p><p>She pulled back, taking a shaky breath, and tried to read her best friend’s face. “Be careful, Harry.”</p><p>“You know me,” he grinned cockily. “I’ll be fine. You have the ring?”</p><p>“Yes,” Hermione said, wiping away the tears that had started to form at the corner of her eyes before searching through her beaded bag. She pulled out the garish piece of jewellery and handed it to him. “There wasn’t a lot of information about how to summon Death. Most of the stories of the Hallows don’t include anyone who possessed all three at once. From what I have read, you have to wear the ring and cast the spell with the wand while standing on the cloak.”</p><p>Harry nodded, before placing the ring on his left hand so that it rested above his wedding band. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the Invisibility Cloak and set it on the ground before standing in the centre. Lastly, he drew the wand from a holster on his wrist. He stretched his arm out to start the incantation but was stopped when Dean shuffled up to them. He casually slipped his hand into Hermione’s before he spoke.</p><p>“Listen, dude,” he said, speaking directly to Harry. “I don’t know exactly what you’re doing right now but I… This… Thanks.”</p><p>“That’s alright, mate,” Harry said. “I would say anytime, but this is a one time offer.”</p><p>Dean grinned, “If we need this again then we’re all fucked,” he said. He peered at her when she did not comment on his language and Hermione rolled her eyes in response. Dean smirked at her before gently leading her away.</p><p>Harry stretched out his arm and did the elaborate wand movement, “<em> Vocat Mortem</em>,” he said. He repeated the movements, “ <em> Invoco Mortem </em> .” He repeated the movements once more, “ <em> Ostende Mortem </em>.” For a moment, Hermione was unsure whether the spell had worked and started to panic. She realised with a sinking feeling that they had never discussed a Plan B. The only other idea that had been mentioned was when Dean was considering going to see someone to stop his heart. She inadvertently squeezed his large hand in response to the thought. He squeezed it back and her anxiety calmed slightly. </p><p>“Harry,” a drawling voice said. “You interrupted quite an enjoyable meal at a diner in North Carolina. They have some of the best waffles in the world.”</p><p>Hermione looked at the man who had spoken. He was tall and slender. His qualities were almost skeletal, with angular features and hollowed cheeks. His eyes were dark and his gaze was steady in an unnerving manner. He wore a black wool coat, white shirt and black trousers, and his shoes shone so brightly the moonlight reflected on their surface. </p><p>“Er,” Harry said, “sorry?”</p><p>“It’s quite alright,” Death said. “I hope that the reason for summoning me here is important enough that it will make up for the inconvenience.” The tall, thin man adjusted his stance slightly. He leaned heavily on a cane, though Hermione suspected that it was simply for show. “Especially since you know that these visits come at a price. I don’t let many people slip away as often as you have,” the stern look on the man’s skeletal face made Hermione’s blood run cold. “Although,” he said, eyes narrowed, “I know how reluctant you are as a master. I keep track of my possessions and have not known the Hallows united like this in many years. I hope you look after my cloak with the care and respect it deserves,” he said, tilting his head slightly. </p><p>Harry looked at his feet where the Cloak lay before grimacing. “Of course.”</p><p>“So, Harry,” the man said. “I do not expect that you summoned me here simply for a catch up between old friends. What is it that I can do for you?”</p><p>“Well, it’s not me that you would be doing anything for. Not entirely,” Harry muttered awkwardly. He took his glasses off his nose and rubbed them on the corner of his t-shirt before he spoke again. He blinked rapidly when he replaced them on his face and looked back up at the man in front of him. He then looked over his shoulder to Hermione and Dean.</p><p>“Ah,” Death said. “I should have known that a Winchester was behind this,” he drawled. “Hello, Dean.”</p><p>Dean’s body went rigid and his face set. Hermione clasped his hand a little tighter before letting it go. As though the gesture gave him the fortification he needed, he stepped up next to Harry. “Lucifer’s cage,” he said. “You’re one of the few people who can actually jailbreak it. Sam’s soul is stuck in that box.”</p><p>Death inclined his head, “I’ve heard.”</p><p>“We need you to get him out,” Harry interjected.</p><p>Hermione waited on bated breath. She knew that this was not something that Death would do willingly. She was on edge, unsure the price that he would ask. The man turned to face Harry completely, a curious look on his sunken features, “Why do you want to help them? You do not seem to have any need to be concerned with anything the Winchester brothers do.”</p><p>Harry shrugged, “My best friend asked,” he said. “She calls it my ‘saving people thing’. Plus, from what I’ve been told, they have a similar thing. They’re just a bit messier at cleaning up problems.”</p><p>Hermione sighed. Of course, Harry had to get one more dig in.</p><p>“Ah, yes. Miss Granger,” Death said, glancing over to her. “I find it interesting that she was the one to bring the two of you together. Quite a remarkable young woman.”</p><p>Hermione was not sure what to make of the statement but watched the men closely. She saw Harry’s shoulders rise and fall as though taking in a deep breath but Dean did not have the same self-control. “Don’t look at her. You’re here for me, not her.”</p><p>Death looked back at the hunter, “I am here at Harry’s summoning, not yours,” he said in an ice-cold tone. “But you are right that she has nothing to do with tonight.”</p><p>“Will you do it?” Dean demanded.</p><p>“I cannot ignore a command from my master,” Death said. “But Dean, no more favours. If you come running to me, tail between your legs again, remember that every deal comes at a price.” Death’s eyes flicked back to Hermione and her breath hitched.</p><p>“I said not to look at her,” Dean growled.</p><p>“Very well,” Death said. He stepped forward, almost nose to nose with the American. “But, you will do well to remember that I do not enjoy being made a fool.” Hermione could see Dean’s shoulders stiffen and she hoped he did not provoke the other being further.</p><p>“Dean,” she said softly. His head whipped around and the emotion in his forest green eyes was breathtaking. The moment his eyes met hers he visibly relaxed. “This is for Sam.” At her words, he nodded and turned back to Death.</p><p>“I notice that your brother is not with you,” Death said. “How do you plan on returning his soul to him?”</p><p>“We need you to put it in this,” Dean said, drawing the newly created Lutcrux from his pocket and dangling it from its leather string. “And then we’ll be getting one of your little henchmen to do the rest.”</p><p>Death took the amulet, “Agreed. Give me a moment.” With that, he disappeared from the clearing.</p><p>“Do you think he’ll do it?” Dean asked, turning to Harry.</p><p>The wizard grimaced, “He can’t ignore a request from me. He won’t be happy about it though.”</p><p>"The son of a bitch doesn’t need to be happy about it, he just needs to do it,” Dean said. Hermione moved next to the men and sighed.</p><p>“Like Harry said, he can’t ignore his request.”</p><p>“No, I can’t,” Death said, having reappeared. He handed the amulet back to Dean. “Your brother is in there,” he said. “Flayed to the nerve, but the entirety of his soul is there.”</p><p>Dean nodded, “Thanks.”</p><p>“No more favours, Dean,” Death repeated. “The next time I see you, I expect it to be for good.”</p>
<hr/><p>Hermione booked their return flight the following morning. Dean had picked up a voicemail from Bobby after they left the Forbidden Forest that had him muttering to himself. Hermione was concerned but had agreed that they had been in London for long enough. Their flight back to the States was as awkward as the first, but for an entirely different reason. Hermione had not wanted to bring up the conversations that the pair had with Luna and Death, unsure whether she would want to hear the outcome. She was not ready for another heartbreak. </p><p>To make matters more embarrassing, Harry had agreed to fly with them to help with the final part of the ritual. That was how Hermione found herself on an aeroplane, sat next to her best friend while her… Dean… was sitting on his other side. She was almost certain that the green-eyed wizard had chosen the middle seat as some kind of misplaced gesture of brotherly dominance over the hunter.</p><p>When they landed at JFK they were greeted by Hank Malone looking agitated. With his arms folded across his broad chest, looking at his watch repeatedly, Hermione knew that things had definitely gotten worse since they left.</p><p>“Took you long enough,” he said grumpily.</p><p>“Miss me that much, Malone?” Hermione snarked, but when the older wizard marched out of the airport without replying, she knew it was serious. She dashed to catch up with him, the boys doing the same before they rounded a building and came to a stop. Malone picked up a discarded can and pointed his wand at it. “<em> Portus</em>,” he said. “Grab on,” he said impatiently. All three of them followed his instructions and within moments, Hermione felt the familiar tug of the Portkey behind her navel.</p><p>They landed in the spot that she would ordinarily Apparate to before work and barely had a moment to catch their balance before Malone was speeding ahead.</p><p>“Woah,” Dean said, still a little unsteady after the unfamiliar method of transportation. “Where’s the fire?”</p><p>The grey-haired man spun on his heel and had an unidentifiable look on his face. “I’ve been babysitting your brother for the last three days,” he groused before stomping ahead. They made their way to the DADA quicker than Hermione ever thought possible.</p><p>Once they burst through the doors of the office, Hermione decided enough was enough, “Malone!” she demanded. “Would you care to enlighten us why we just rushed here at breakneck speed?”</p><p> </p><p>The man growled and whirled around, “Granger,” he barked. “His brother,” he said gesturing at Dean, “decided that he didn’t fancy taking his chances with your grand plan. Summoned an angel, tried to kill Singer and almost derailed everything. The ungrateful ass did it while I’ve been tracking down a Dementor and managing the war for purgatory. The boy has been locked in our holding cell for the last three days so he won’t try anything stupid again.”</p><p>“Son of a bitch!” Dean said. “I shoulda known he’d try something.”</p><p>Hermione froze before slowly turning to the hunter, “<em> Excuse </em> me?”</p><p>Dean rubbed the back of his neck, “I shoulda known there was something off from the jump. He musta heard Cas talkin’ then waited ‘til we left to try and wreck things.”</p><p>Harry, who had been quiet until that moment stepped forward. Hermione could see the telltale twitch of his lips, hands balling into fists. “You’re telling me,” he said, ice in his tone, “That I risked my life, leaving my wife and children, for someone who doesn’t even <em> want </em> to be saved?”</p><p>Hermione was speechless as she watched the two men face-off, numb. Her ears were ringing but she felt paralysed. She watched as Dean, unable to meet Harry’s eye, speak, “He ain’t thinkin’ straight. He… I… He doesn’t know right from wrong. I just wanted my brother back.”</p><p>Harry ran his hand through his messy black hair and took a deep breath, “There’s no turning back now,” he sighed. “We may as well finish what we started,” he turned to Malone who was watching the exchange with a frown. “Did you manage to get the Dementor?”</p><p>The older wizard nodded, “Follow me,” he said before striding through the office to a door that led to another corridor. Hermione followed after them.</p><p>“Hermione,” Dean said from behind her. “Please…”</p><p>“Don’t,” she hissed not facing him. “You risked <em> my </em> brother to save yours.” With that, she moved down the corridor to find Malone and Harry.</p>
<hr/><p>Dean’s shoulders sagged in disappointment as he watched Hermione’s retreating back. She was right. She had asked him to trust her and he had not told her the whole truth. He had a feeling that Sam was sceptical about whether his soul could be repaired completely and he had not told her his suspicions. Dean had to admit that until he had seen her in action during the last week, he had been dubious about her abilities, too. But, that changed fairly quickly once he saw the amount of time Hermione spent researching. And after Stonehenge, he knew that he would get the old Sam back. Why did he have to fuck everything up by not coming clean? He knew she would have understood, or at least not get quite so mad at him.</p><p>Sighing and rubbing the back of his neck, he started toward where Malone, Harry and Hermione had disappeared to. As he rounded a corner he saw them walking toward him. Floating between them was a large cloaked figure that made Dean pale in fear. Hermione had warned him about the creature but it was one thing to know about it, it was another to see the thing. Beside each of them were silvery animals, Malone was being guarded by a grey wolf, while a majestic stag trotted beside Harry. Then there was Hermione’s familiar otter. Dean’s heart clenched at the playful animal flitting around the curly-haired witch. He knew they needed to talk about what had happened during the ritual and what Luna had said to them a few days before. He hoped, in light of recent developments, that Hermione would give him a chance. That they could figure out whatever the thing between them was.</p><p>He caught the eye of Malone, who jerked his chin, wordlessly indicating to go back. Nodding, Dean returned in the direction that he had come from. Once getting to the office, he leaned against a desk and waited for the others.</p><p>A moment later, the three magic folk came through the door. He noticed that both Harry and Hermione were determinedly not looking in his direction. “What is that thing?” Dean asked, looking at the creature.</p><p>“A dementor,” Hermione said, as the group strode toward a third door in the room. “They’re usually invisible to Muggles though.”</p><p>“Didn’t Luna say they were angels?” he questioned. “I’ve dealt with those motherfuckers before.”</p><p>“Language,” she scolded and Dean could not help but smile at the habit. “Yes, now that you mention it I remember you saying that you have some kind of protection? I imagine part of that is being able to see beings like dementors. You can’t be protected from things you can’t see.” Hermione recited. He recognised the tone she took when she was pulling from her impressive mental library, the same tone when they had first met and she would argue with him all the time. Had that only been a couple of weeks before? It made him frown slightly that she was taking a more detached tone with him but, in the end, was not sure he blamed her.</p><p>Dean followed the trio into a cell that looked very similar to Bobby’s panic room. The sight in front of him made his heart ache for his brother. Sam was strapped to an iron chair that was placed in the centre of a devil’s trap. He could see the wounds on his wrists where he had been struggling against his restraints and his clothes were dirty from several days’ wear. Sam was slumped forward in his seat, long dark hair covering his eyes. When he heard the group enter, his head shot up and the desperate expression on his face made Dean falter slightly.</p><p>“Dean, please, help me,” he said. His voice was hoarse as though he had been screaming.</p><p>“I am, Sammy,” he said, holding back emotions. “We all are,” he said, gesturing to the other occupants of the room. “Hermione found a way to get your soul back safe.”</p><p>“Dean…” Sam said, eyes pleading. “Don’t do this.”</p><p>“I have to,” Dean growled. “You’re not right.” He turned to Harry and handed him the amulet that contained Sam’s soul, “Do it.”</p><p>Harry nodded before taking the Lutcrux. Using the wand that he had used in the clearing to summon death, he tapped the amulet, “<em> Vocare animae</em>,” he invoked. The Lutcrux glowed a pure white, just as it had a few days before at the stone circle. Dean watched dumbfounded as a wispy substance gathered at the tip of the wand. Harry then stretched out his arm toward the Dementor, which opened its mouth greedily. Hermione had described a few days before what would happen once they returned. She assured Dean that Sam’s soul would be protected by the magic in the Lutcrux and that once the Dementor fed on it, the soul would begin its healing process. </p><p>Dean watched in amazement as the great, hooded creature turned to Harry as though awaiting instructions. The wizard pointed at Sam before saying, “Er, give him that?”</p><p>The Dementor floated over to where Sam was looking on in terror. “No,” he yelled. “No, get away from me!” The creature ignored his brother’s cries and Dean could only look on, petrified with fear, as the figure approached his brother. “Don’t,” he gasped, “Don’t!” Sam’s eyes widened as the Dementor’s mouth opened, the same blinding white light that Dean had seen before poured from its mouth. “Don’t you touch me,” Sam begged, leaning away, his chair rocking back. His head whipped around to look at Dean, hoping that he would intervene. “Please, don’t do this,” he implored. “No, no, you don’t know what will happen to me. Dean, please.”</p><p>Dean bolted from the room as the light filled the room and Sam’s screams and sobs echoed around the cell.</p>
<hr/><p>Hermione found Dean in the office, sat at a desk with his head in his hands. Despite everything that had transpired earlier that day, she could not bear to see him in this state. She slowly made her way over to where he was and sat on the edge of the desk.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have told you.”</p><p>“Yes,” she said, “you should.” He looked up at her and all her resolve broke. His wide, green eyes were red with unshed tears and the emotion swirling behind them was so raw it made her breath catch.</p><p>“I… You made a promise and I should have bel-”</p><p>He was cut off by a very angry Harry Potter storming into the office, wand outstretched, hand shaking. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t hex you until you can’t see straight!” he yelled.</p><p>Dean raised his hands in surrender, “Harry -”</p><p>“You arrogant prick! Who gave you the right to decide that your brother was more important than anyone else?”</p><p>“What was I supposed to do?”</p><p>“Tell the truth!” Harry’s yell reverberated around the small space.</p><p>Hermione watched as Dean stood to confront the dark-haired wizard, “What truth?” he asked, desperately. “He’s my-” </p><p>“Brother, yes,” Harry retorted. “But you should have told us, told <em> her</em>, that he might not be okay with this.” </p><p>Dean’s jaw clenched, “You don’t under-”</p><p>“Don’t ever say I don’t understand this shit!” Harry roared. “You put <em>my </em>family at risk. I let you into <em>my </em>home and this is how you repay us? Repay her?” he hissed, pointing at Hermione. “If this all goes tits up, it’s on you. You should have trusted her, at the very least.” </p><p>Dean deflated, wind taken out of his sails. “I know,” he said, resigned. “Until I met Hermione, witches weren’t exactly on my Christmas card list. I was wrong.”</p><p>Hermione felt all the hurt and anger from earlier bubble to the surface. “Are you quite done talking about me like I’m not here,” she snapped. Two sets of green eyes looked at her in shock as though they had, in fact, forgotten she was in the room. “Harry,” she said, turning to her best friend, “I am quite capable of defending myself, thank you. I know you’re angry but please let me fight my own battles. We aren’t teenagers anymore.” </p><p>Harry’s shoulders slumped, nodding. He removed his glasses and cleaned them on the corner of his T-shirt, “I know,” he sighed. “I just..” She smiled at him and he nodded again. </p><p>Hermione then turned to Dean, who watched her wearily, “You told me you trusted me. You may not have outright lied to me, but you didn’t tell me everything. I... You told me his soul would need healing but... you should have told me. Harry’s right, I deserved to know.”</p><p>Dean looked at her, imploringly, “I… Hermione, I…” What he was not saying shone through and she placed a hand on his chest.</p><p>“Let’s take Sam back to Bobby’s,” she suggested, “I don’t want to have this conversation at work.”</p><p>He nodded, “Yeah, alright.”</p><p>Malone, who had been watching the entire exchange from the door of the interrogation room, coughed. “The kid is out for the count,” he said. “If you’re all done with your little domestic, I can set up a Portkey for about an hour.” He faced Harry, who sat at a desk beside them, “Was good to meet you, Potter. I owe you a Firewhisky for all the shit you’ve done.”</p><p>Harry smirked, “I never turn down a free drink.”</p><p>Malone barked out a laugh before he wandered off to arrange a Portkey for Sioux Falls.</p><p>“I should probably call Bobby,” Dean said. “Let him know we’re on our way.”</p><p>Hermione moved for him to use his mobile away from magical interference on the street outside.</p><p>“Hermione,” Harry said once Dean left.</p><p>Before he could say anything further she rounded the desk he was sitting at and took the seat opposite him. “I know he lied but… I get why. If it was you, I’m not sure I wouldn’t have done the same.” He inclined his head in understanding and she reached out for his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.</p><p>“Thank you,” she whispered. His encouraging grin was infectious.</p>
<hr/><p>As soon as they landed, Bobby rushed out of his house with a rifle aimed at them. When he saw the group, however, he lowered his weapon.</p><p>“Seriously, Bobby?” Dean yelled as he pulled himself from the ground. </p><p>Hermione and Harry had landed with more grace, being used to travelling by Portkey. He watched as Hermione pointed her wand at Sam’s body and muttered “<em> Moblicorpus</em>,” before walking toward the house. When she was beside the older hunter, he gestured up the stairs.</p><p>“Second room on the left,” he instructed. </p><p>She nodded before disappearing into the house. The older hunter turned to Dean with a scowl, “When you said you were on your way, I thought you meant by road, you idjit.”</p><p>Dean flinched, he was pissing everyone off today, it seemed. “Yeah,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “Probably should have been clearer with that.”</p><p>“You think?” Bobby said. It was only then that he spotted the other man, “Who’s this?”</p><p>“Oh, er… Bobby, this is Harry, Hermione’s best friend. Harry, this is Bobby.”</p><p>Harry nodded at the older man, “Hi.”</p><p>“Come in,” Bobby said, gesturing to the door. “Sorry about the greetin’. This pain in my ass didn’t tell me the details.”</p><p>“I’m gunna go,” Dean said before gesturing upstairs.</p><p>Bobby nodded and Dean strode into the house. He made his way to the room usually reserved for Sam when they crashed at Bobby’s. Just as he reached the door, Hermione collided into his chest. Automatically, his hands grabbed her shoulders to steady her. He peered around her to look into the room but she had already closed the door behind her. “How is he?” he asked.</p><p>“Fine,” Hermione said. “Physically, at least. We won’t know until he wakes up whether the magic worked.”</p><p>He nodded sharply, but the tension in his body did not leave. He felt her tentatively place her warm soft hand over his heart, “I’ve done everything I can. You need to trust me, one last time.”</p><p>His eyes shot down to look at her, “Hermione,” he said. “I… Can we…” He rubbed the back of his neck, “Come with me,” he said before grabbing her hand and leading her down the corridor.</p><p>She followed him into the bedroom that he would stay in when he did not pass out on the couch. When she closed the door behind them, he spun around. “Can you put up those spells you did before? I kinda want some privacy for this.” She frowned, but cast a silencing and privacy charm on the door, not moving further into the room, staying with her back to the door. “Hermione, you gotta believe me, I… Dammit… I don’t know… shit…” Dean started to pace the small room and he could feel her watching him. How did he explain? Ever since their first night in London, he had been at war with himself. She was a good woman who deserved so much.</p><p>“Dean,” she said sharply. “I’m a big girl,” taking a deep breath. “You… You wouldn’t be the first man to walk away.”</p><p>He stopped in his tracks, confused. Then, like a bucket of ice water, he realised what this must look like. “No! That’s not it. I… Goddamit… I trust you. With Sam. With everything. I don’t… I feel this… thing… a connection. I don’t want to <em>walk away</em>. The… The opposite, actually.” He winced slightly. That was not the best way to express what he was feeling.</p><p>Judging by her dumbfounded stare, she must have felt the same. “You… You want…” she stuttered. And all of a sudden, he grew bolder.</p><p>“I want to figure this out,” Dean said firmly, before his doubt set in again. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, “I want to know what your friend meant when she was talking about Wrinklespouts being the same size.”</p><p>“Wrackspurts,” Hermione corrected automatically.</p><p>He chuckled for a moment before his face became serious again, “I… This won’t be easy. If I was you I’d run from me.”</p><p>She smiled, “Nothing worth fighting for is easy,” she said. She stepped toward him, “And I don’t run away.”</p><p>Dean did not break eye contact with her as he moved to meet her in the middle of the small bedroom. The relief that washed over him at her words was like a weight had lifted from his shoulders. He still had his doubts. Doubts about whether she would stay, despite what she had said. Doubts that he was worthy of her. But Hermione was here, still helping him. Still willing to explore whatever it was they had between them. He was terrified. He did not want to fuck this up.</p><p>He took her face in both of his large hands, looking deep into her chocolate brown orbs. His throat closed with emotion that he did not want to name, “Hermione… I…”</p><p>“Shh,” she whispered, her eyes sparkling. </p><p>Dean brushed her cheek with one thumb and she leaned into his touch, eyelids fluttering shut. He leaned forward and captured her chapped pink lips hoping to pour everything he could not say into the kiss. He felt her arms wrap around his neck as she moved her strong body into his. He was overwhelmed by her scent of strawberry and rose as he moved his hands to tangle in her wild hair. Hermione tasted like smooth Tennessee whiskey. Something Dean would happily get drunk on for as long as she would allow. This felt like no other kiss they had shared. It was charged with something unnamable that ran through his veins. No other high had ever come close for him. And he wanted to prove to the woman in his arms that he was worth her time. Dean was not sure how long they stood in the middle of the bedroom kissing. It could have been minutes, it could have been days.</p><p>Needing more, his hands fell from her hair gliding down her spine. He ran his hands under her shirt, her soft skin warm beneath his fingertips. Trailing his lips down the smooth column of her neck, he revelled in the sounds she made. Wrapping one arm around her waist and sliding the other over her muscular thigh, she seemed to understand what he wanted. She hopped into his arms before he strode over to the bed. Covering her body with his, his hands made their way up her shirt once more. Fingertips lightly drawing runes on the skin of her torso as she arched into his touch. Impatient with the barrier between them, he gripped the bottom of her t-shirt and tugged it over her head. Hungry to have flesh against flesh, he broke away from her to shed his shirt. Hermione reached up, small hands mapping the skin of his chest. Unwilling to let go of control, he gently moved her hands away before leaning forward and capturing her lips in another searing kiss. Her hands tugged at his hair as he once more moved his mouth down her body. Dean followed the now familiar line of the scar that ran between her breasts before capturing one with his mouth.</p><p>Her fingers tightened in his hair and he felt a sharp pain at his scalp, a pain that told him he had lost hair to her pleasure. He nipped her nipple, unwilling to allow her firm grip to distract him from the attention he was laving on her firm breasts, working her responsive nipples into hard peaks. While his mouth worked one breast, his hand worked the other, pinching and squeezing. He smirked as she undulated below him wantonly at his every caress.</p><p>“You like that, little witch?” Dean growled.</p><p>“Fuck, yes,” Hermione gasped. </p><p>Glancing up he was overcome with want. Her eyes were dark and hooded with lust, her cheeks were flushed. Her lips were bruised and swollen from their kissing. Keeping his eyes on hers, Dean skimmed his hand from her breast down her stomach, tracing runes once more, torturing her with languid movements toward the waistband of her jeans. He watched in fascination as Hermione threw her head back into the pillows, eyelids fluttering closed when he dipped his hands into her underwear. He groaned when he came into contact with her warm pussy; she was so slick for him. He tormented her further,  sinking one of his long fingers inside her, coaxing her into a frenzy. Once she was taut and wanting, he added a second finger, curling them inside her, palm applying pressure to the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs.</p><p>Deftly, Dean unbuckled her jeans before dipping his head and allowing his mouth to follow the path his hand had taken. When he reached her waistband, he flicked his eyes up to her. Shifting, he hooked both his thumbs in her jeans and underwear, hauling them down her strong legs. Adjusting himself again, he placed himself between her legs, marvelling at the sight of her stretched out naked in front of him. Hermione was glorious. Her dark eyes watched him hungrily as she squirmed under his molten gaze. The vision of her so vulnerable to him was intoxicating, and his cock strained against his jeans with need. But tonight was all about her. About making it up to her after he had hurt her. About showing her how much he wanted to be here with her.</p><p>Dean lowered his body slightly while tracing his calloused fingers on the outside of her thighs. With little effort, he splayed his large hands around the back of her knees placing them on his broad shoulders. Her velvety, strong legs hooked themselves securely as he was presented with the perfect view of her dripping pussy. The musky, sweet smell of her arousal filled his nostrils and it took everything in his power to restrain himself from tasting her just yet. Instead, he turned his head sweeping his lips teasingly up her thighs, almost reaching her waiting heat before switching to the other. Her hands were in his hair once more, guiding him to her core. Finally, he rearranged himself once more and ran his tongue over her coated folds. She cried out in euphoria as he lapped at her nectar. The taste of her was dizzying. Like Texas wildflower honey. Smoky and sweet. He gripped the supple flesh at her stomach to keep her in place while he feasted on her lips. He languished in the intoxicating sounds that fell from her as he thrust his fingers into her, sucking at her clit. He curled his fingers inside her hitting her sweet spot. Her body arched and bowed into his every ministration as her heels drove into his shoulders to allow her to lift her hips. Her nails dug into his scalp, keeping his head in place, and he knew from the erratic jerking of her hips that she was close.</p><p>“Shit, Dean, I…” Hermione panted but he did not relent until she screamed his name in rapture. </p><p>Carefully he unwrapped her shaking thighs from around his shoulders so he could shuck his jeans off. His painfully hard cock stood proudly between his legs and he wasted no time returning to cover the length of her body with his. Dean kissed her soundly, permitting her a taste of her essence. The honey of her juices mingled stunningly with the fiery taste of her lips. One of her hands returned to his hair while the other progressed over his shoulders and down his spine. Unable to wait a moment longer, he reached between them and positioned himself at her entrance. With one smooth thrust, he sheathed himself in her tight heat. He broke their kiss for a moment, dropping his forehead to hers, holding her gaze as he moved within her, one hand on her hip, the other braced by her head.</p><p>"Christ, little witch,” Dean growled. “You always feel so good.” </p><p>His eyes squeezed shut as he slowly pulled out and pushed back into her molten heat. This felt different from every other time they had come together before. Like a dam had burst and everything was being channelled into every caress of their fingers, and stroke of his cock, and grind of their hips. She peppered kisses over his shoulders while her nails bit into his back. Hermione swaying her body with each surge of his own. They seemed to be dancing to a tune only they could hear. Her legs shifted folding around his waist, heels delving into his ass, drawing him deeper. The hand he had on her hip rounded her sinewy thigh and gently rocked it away, placing it over his shoulder. Her eyes rolled back, eyelids fluttered closed, as he drove deeper into her than ever before. His hand found its way to her clit once more. With only a few sweeps of his rough fingers, she was clenching around him. His head fell forward again, gritting his teeth as he tried to stave off his release for as long as possible.</p><p>“Not yet, little witch,” he implored.</p><p>“Please,” she begged. “I… I need…” and he could not hold back any more. </p><p>Dean applied more pressure to her clit, tracing runes once more, and it did not take long before they were both diving into a sea of ecstasy. Removing her leg from his shoulder leisurely, he collapsed beside her before capturing her against his chest. His final thought before exhaustion hit him was that he did not want to let her go.</p>
<hr/><p><em> Knock, knock</em>.</p><p>Hermione stirred, sighing unhappily as another delicious dream was interrupted.</p><p><em> Knock, knock</em>.</p><p>Beside her, she heard a male groan of frustration.</p><p>“Do you think if we lay here,” Dean said, warm breath ghosting over the shell of her ear, “that the motherfucker will leave us alone?”</p><p>Hermione shook her head and turned in his arms to burrow into his chest.</p><p>
  <em> Bang, bang. </em>
</p><p>“Dean!” a gruff voice called through the door. “It’s Sam.” </p><p>Hermione huffed in annoyance as the man she had been contentedly snuggling up against, sat bolt upright. She rolled over to express her displeasure when the doorknob rattled and there was a bang.</p><p>“Dammit, Dean,” Bobby growled as he strode into the small bedroom. “We need to call-” Hermione squeaked and ducked under the covers when the older hunter turned toward the bed. “Oh,” he said then glared at Dean, arms folded over his chest. “You fucked her?”</p><p>“Why is everyone fascinated by my sex life?!” Dean exclaimed as he grabbed the jeans he had been wearing the night before from the floor. He pulled them on and turned to face Bobby. “Is Sam okay?”</p><p>“Er… He… He hasn’t woken up. Thought maybe we should call in Cas?”</p><p>Hermione, who Dean had passed his t-shirt to cover herself with, popped her head up. “I ran diagnostics last night and there wasn’t anything alarming.”</p><p>“Can’t hurt though, right?” Dean said.</p><p>“Hermione!” she heard Harry yell up before she heard him pounding up the stairs. “Hermione-” he stopped short when he saw that both Dean and she were half-dressed. He paled at the sight. “I didn’t want to see that.”</p><p>“Well, call it payback for that time I walked in on you and Ginny on the kitchen table,” she retorted.</p><p>He nodded before getting back to the reason for entering the room “There was a message from Malone, he thinks he might have a lead on the purgatory thing.”</p><p>“Thanks, Harry, I-”</p><p>She was cut off by a sudden gust of wind. A glowing man with large feathered wings, wearing a trenchcoat, stood at the base of the bed. “Dean,” he said in a gravelly voice, keen blue eyes darting to the hunter. “You called about Sam. Why does it smell like sex in here?”</p><p>“<em> Everybody </em> out!” Hermione yelled. Harry was the first to obey, knowing that an angry Hermione tended to get violent, but was soon followed by Bobby and the glowing man.</p><p>10 minutes later Dean and Hermione were washed, dressed, and standing in Bobby’s study with the others.</p><p>“You think this magic will have completely reversed the damage?” the angel, who Hermione had learned was called Castiel, said.</p><p>“We’re not sure, but that’s the hope,” she replied.</p><p>“Very well,” he said before there was a rustle of feathers and he disappeared.</p><p>“He does that,” Dean said from the corner of his mouth. “What did Malone say he found out about purgatory?” he asked, turning to Harry.</p><p>“Not much, just that there was a lead. Something about a cult opening portals?”</p><p>“Great!” Hermione exclaimed.</p><p>“He’s fine,” Castiel’s deep voice said. Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin, having not heard him reenter the room.</p><p>“That too,” Dean said.</p><p>“His soul is mostly intact,” the angel continued, ignoring the hunter. “It is blistered, but not as damaged as expected,” he cocked his head to one side as his unnerving blue eyes examined Hermione. “You are very powerful.”</p><p>“Er… thanks?”</p><p>“You’re welcome,” he said before turning to Dean. “Your brother may not be completely healed. The scars on his soul… Sam may want to pick at his scabs if he does there is no telling if he will survive.”</p><p>Dean looked shocked and unnerved so Hermione moved closer to him, lacing her fingers in his. He looked down at their intertwined fingers, then back at her. She could see the doubt swimming in his eyes. The hope. He looked back up, “Cas,” he started but the angel had already disappeared. The stairs creaked and all of their heads whipped around.</p><p>“Dean?” came Sam’s voice. “Bobby?”</p><p>“In here, Sammy,” Dean said, voice tight with emotion.</p><p>The tall man slowly stumbled through the door from the entrance hall. He took in the strange group of people but made a beeline for his brother. Hermione released Dean’s hand for him to step forward and embrace Sam. The men clutched at each other tightly and Hermione smiled to herself. She instantly saw a difference in the younger hunter’s demeanour. The two hunters broke apart, and Sam thumped Dean on the back, wide grin on his face. He noticed Bobby, who was watching the exchange wearily. The older hunter was likely still on edge from his encounter a few days before when the dark-haired man had tried to kill him.</p><p>Sam strode over to Bobby and held him close taking the older man by surprise. “Wait,” Sam said, pulling back. “I saw you… I <em> felt </em> Lucifer snap your neck.” Bobby frowned and exchanged a look with Dean, who had moved to stand beside Hermione once more.</p><p>“Well, Cas -”</p><p>“Cas is alive?” Sam asked, surprised.</p><p>“Yeah, Cas… Cas is fine,” Dean said. “Sam are you okay?” The younger man smiled but frowned when he glanced at where Dean was holding Hermione’s hand. “Yeah, I’m fine. Who… Who are these people?” he asked, gesturing between Hermione and Harry.</p><p>“Sam, what’s the last thing you remember?” Dean asked, tentatively.</p><p>“The field,” he shrugged. “Then I fell.” </p><p>Dean exchanged a look with Hermione. Hermione whipped out her wand, pointing it at Sam. The man flinched back, looking uncertain. She knew that Castiel had run diagnostics only two minutes before, but she wanted to be sure that nothing had been missed.</p><p>“What the hell?” Sam asked, surprised. “Dean?” he turned to the other man, bewildered.</p><p>Hermione frowned, “Castiel was right, he seems fine,” she confirmed.</p><p>“Seriously, what’s going on?” Sam demanded.</p><p>Dean shifted nervously beside Hermione, “Well, I guess we have some things to explain.”</p><p>
  <em>Fin...?</em>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Potential TW - Slight somnophilia in opening scene, Dean is going down on Hermione while she's asleep. She believes it is a dream and wakes up as she orgasms. This is a consensual act.</p>
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